


Wake the Dragon

by angeljetfire



Series: Wake the Dragon Series [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Coming of Age, Falling In Love, Greek Mythology AU, Homophobia, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Sweet, brief description of, mature rating is for violence and brief description of abuse, no sex in this one it’s a sweet love story, possible triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:34:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 73
Words: 143,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2581616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeljetfire/pseuds/angeljetfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all begins when Castiel finds a strange boy stealing pig slop in his barn. Dean Winchester, with his sprained ankle, is not like anyone Castiel has ever met before in his sheltered, 14-year-old life. It turns out Dean is from a different world entirely. Every year, for a few short days near Midsummer’s Eve, two laurel trees provide passage between Castiel’s world and Dean’s. </p><p>But why has the passage opened up?  And why are storms whipping up in Castiel’s world? Dean and Cas must face more dangerous questions, too. Why did Castiel’s mother abandon him as a baby at the well of healing water? Why do his abusive step-parents hate Dean so much? Is it because he pries Cas away from his backbreaking manual farm labor, or because he gives Cas a new feeling of self worth? </p><p>Greek monsters come roaring to life as the years quickly pass, and Castiel and Dean both learn what true friendship means. They fight to save each other’s lives as the mystery slowly unravels, and as their feelings for each other deepen. Soon, they realize that the life of every person Castiel loves is at risk...and Dean’s world is at risk, too, if they don’t find the answers they need. If they don’t stop the awakening Greek dragons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys, this is my first attempt at a full length Castiel and Dean fic. I hope you like it, and please comment if you find mistakes, or if you like it, etc. This story does have a possible trigger scene in Chapter 10, but it is short, and I'll warn you well in advance. 
> 
> This story is complete, including Part Two of the series, but I'll post the chapters in chunks over the next few weeks, as I proof it again. Thank you for reading!

 

“Love always wakes the dragon and suddenly  
                                                                        flames everywhere.” - Richard Siken

 

Castiel shoved a wrist across his sweaty forehead, and gripped the heavy slop pail tighter. The slop smelled sour, of old milk and other, rotted things. He was tired, and his homespun breeches and shirt felt hot and rough against his skin. Worse, his empty stomach felt like a clenched, painfully knotted fist.

The twilight deepened around him as he entered the dimly barn. One lantern in the far corner emitted a feeble glow. Burning the oil this early in the evening would infuriate old man Rowley. Hopefully he wouldn’t find out. That’s why Castiel had turned the flame down so low he could barely see.

The pigs in the pen snorted as Castiel approached. The fattest one, Henry, squealed with delight—or reproach—Castiel wasn’t sure which. Henry preferred to be fed _before_ the sun went down. But old Ty Rowley had had other ideas. Harvesting the last of the asparagus before the night dew mattered to him. That, and Castiel feeding the pigs on time. Needless to say, Castiel frequently failed to complete his tasks rapidly enough to please his boss. Life seemed to be set up that way. Ty’s wife, Echna Rowley, wasn’t much better. She wanted kindling and wood cut every night by sundown, too.

Castiel’s stomach growled in a sharp, hard burst. He’d only eaten raw vegetables today. The asparagus harvest had gone so late that Edna had milked the cows, so he hadn’t drunk any milk since this morning. And his dinner plate on the back porch stoop remained empty because he’d failed to finish his chores on time. Again. Unless he raided the garden, or ate the pig’s slop, he’d go to bed hungry tonight.

The smell of the slop made his stomach heave. He stopped before the pig pen’s gate.

Henry’s squealing neared deafening. “Be patient, Henry,” Castiel muttered. He heaved the bucket over the railing. Thin gruel, potato chunks, and, a macabre addition—bacon rinds—splashed into the trough.

Henry let loose another blood curdling screech, and shoved aside the smaller pigs in his path. One screamed.

Castiel blew out the lamp and retreated to the yard to the water pump, which drew directly from the sweet well on the Rowley’s property. Smooth pulls of the lever gushed water into the bucket, and he rinsed it thoroughly clean. As he set the pail next to the barn, a high pitched snort and indignant squeal rent the air.

With a frown, Castiel strode back into the barn. He felt tempted to separate Henry from his food. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dark. A dark figure stood in the pig pen, hands cupped to his mouth, as if feasting on potato chunks.

“Hey!” Castiel exclaimed in surprise.

The person whipped a glance over his shoulder. He vaulted out of the pigpen and immediately stumbled to his knees. With a short curse, and he hobbled fast for the exit at the other end of the barn.

“Stop!” Castiel sprinted after the slop thief. He wasn’t hard to catch.

The intruder spun to face Castiel, and staggered backward, off balance. His back hit the wall. He was about Castiel’s height, and looked to be about the same age. Fourteen or fifteen.

“Hey.” The stranger held up his hands. “Don’t punch me, okay? I was hungry. Sorry I invaded your turf.”

Castiel wasn’t sure what “turf” meant. And he didn’t recognize the boy. Admittedly, it was pretty dark, but moonlight streamed in the open doorway, illuminating a boy with short hair and a friendly, self-deprecating smile. The stranger stuck out his hand. “I’m Dean.”

Castiel stared at the outstretched hand, not sure what to do with it. “I am Castiel.”

After a second, Dean dropped his hand. “Cool name. Are these your digs?” He looked around. “I mean, I get you don’t sleep in the barn...”

“I do.”

Dean’s mouth fell open. “Oh. Well. Sorry to intrude on your space, man. See. Here’s the thing. I hurt my ankle and got lost in the woods. Not my proudest moment. But I kinda don’t have anywhere to stay until morning. And I’m hungry.” He peered hopefully at Castiel. “You wouldn’t have any food, would you?”

Castiel felt a bit dumbfounded. Here was a boy his own age talking to him, acting as if they were already friends. Castiel didn’t have any friends his own age. Well, he didn’t have any friends at all. This felt a bit surreal.

He opened his mouth, shut it, and opened it again. “I was planning to pick vegetables for my supper,” he said slowly. “I would be willing to share them with you.”

A white smile flashed. “Cool, man. That would be awesome.”

Castiel remembered the boy’s injury, and looked down to where Dean rested one toe gingerly on the straw littered barn floor. He wore strange looking shoes.

The vegetables. “Wait a minute. I’ll be back.”

“Yeah.” Dean grinned, and Castiel felt that smile following him as he hurried to the garden. The Rowleys didn’t mind if he ate as many vegetables as he wanted. It was about the only thing they didn’t mind. Probably because the crops grew so quickly, thanks to the backbreaking hours Castiel put into the large plot.

Castiel quickly gathered up carrots, delicate lettuce, tomatoes, and several baby squash, which were still tender enough to taste good raw.

When he got back to the barn, Dean was gone.

Disappointment sank hard into Castiel’s heart. His new friend had already vanished. Had it all been a dream?

Tentatively, he called out, “Dean?”

“Right here, Cas.”

Castiel spun, and relief filled him. Dean grinned at him, leaning on a stout stick, and Castiel smiled back. It took a second to name the emotion bubbling up in him. _Happiness_. It wasn’t a feeling he’d experienced very often. All he knew was he wanted to hang onto it and enjoy each moment. “Hello, Dean. Perhaps you would like to sit down?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Castiel headed to the back of the barn, to a spot hidden from the glowing lights of the Rowley’s house, and motioned Dean to a tree stump. Castiel was pretty certain old man Rowley would be angry if he knew Dean was on his farm, and eating his vegetables.

Castiel settled onto a fallen log. Carefully, he divided up the food.

They both ate. Castiel was ravenous, after a full day’s work from sunup to sundown. He tried to eat slowly, so he wouldn’t look like a ravening wolf. Dean didn’t seem to have any such qualms. Mouth full of food, and teeth crunching vegetables, he looked around. Moonlight streamed down, and Castiel could now tell that Dean’s hair was a lighter color than his own. The other boy looked fit, as if he regularly worked hard, like Castiel.

Castiel ventured, “I’ve never seen you before. Where are you from?”

Dean peered at the sky and pointed north, toward the thick, dark forest. “That way. A mile, I think. Hard to tell, ’cause I got lost. Gotta tell you, man, I didn’t know there was a farm so close to our rental.”

“Rental?”

“Summer cottage,” Dean explained. “Dad wanted me and Sammy to have a normal summer. Like normal kids. So he rented the house near the lake for a couple weeks.”

“What lake?”

Dean stared at him for a moment. “No offense, but you seem kind of sheltered. Do you ever get off this farm?”

“I go to the village once a week,” Castiel said proudly. “The Rowleys now trust me to buy supplies and run errands.” Yesterday had been his third trip in as many weeks.

Dean’s eyebrows rose and his mouth opened a little, as if about to say something. He seemed to think better of it. “Oh. Well, Lake Crescent is about three miles northwest. You should check it out, if you get a chance, Cas. I think you’d like it.”

“I’m sure I would, Dean,” Castiel agreed gravely. He noticed that Dean had called him “Cas” again. He liked it. It felt strangely nice, that Dean had bothered to give him a nickname. He finished his meal.

Dean rubbed his hands on his pants. The breeches didn’t look like Castiel’s own homespun clothes. In fact, they looked quite foreign, just like his shoes. The moonlight didn’t reveal their color, but they looked dark. “Thanks. That was good.” Dean cleared his throat. “Sure you don’t have a candy bar somewhere? Or...a steak?”

Castiel felt bewildered by the strange words Dean uttered every few seconds. Maybe he _was_ sheltered. Half the time, he had no idea what Dean was saying. But he didn’t want to appear stupid to his new friend. “I am sorry, Dean. That’s all the food I have.”

“Hey, that’s okay, man. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

Castiel thought about what Dean had told him—what he definitely _did_ understand, anyway. “You mentioned your father. And someone named Sammy. Are they worried about you right now? That you’re not home?”

“Nah. Sammy’s at camp—which, man, I did not want to go to. Camp is bogus. And Dad’s on a hunt.” He shut his mouth fast, as if he wished he hadn’t said that. “Anyway, it’s just me for a few days. Maybe I can hobble home tomorrow.”

But Castiel had been eyeing Dean’s ankle. While seated, his breeches had ridden up, revealing an expanse of sock between his pants and his odd shoe. And Dean’s ankle looked very fat, swollen and painful. “Your ankle doesn’t look good, Dean. Wait here. I’ll get a bucket of cold water.”

“Thanks.” When he returned, Dean gingerly placed his swollen foot and ankle, minus sock and shoe, into the cold bucket of water. Castiel felt happy that he’d been able to help his new friend a little. It occurred to him that Dean might be thirsty, too— _he_ certainly was—and fetched another bucket of water, along with a dipper.

Castiel waited in anticipation as Dean dipped up his first scoop of water and gulped. Water slid down the sides of his mouth and dripped onto his shirt.

“Man!” Dean lowered the dipper. “That is the best water I’ve ever tasted.” He scooped up more and drank deeply, his throat bobbing.

Castiel smiled shyly, although he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t _his_ water, after all. But since he’d lived on the farm for his entire life, it _did_ kind of feel like his own water, and he was glad to see Dean enjoy it. “People in the village say it’s the best water in the world.”

Dean gazed into the bucket. The sparkling water reflected back pure white moonbeams. “I wouldn’t doubt it. Definitely better than in the city.”

 _City_. Another strange word. Castiel chalked that up with _turf, rental, candy bar_ and _steak_. Maybe later he could ask Dean what they meant. But only one word at a time, so he wouldn’t look too...what had Dean called him? Sheltered. That was it. _Sheltered_ couldn’t be good. He felt sure of that.

“So, you live here.” Dean glanced up at the barn and the brilliant stars twinkling overhead in the clear sky, and then over at the rolling hills and fields, and beyond them, the dark forest.

“I’ve lived here my whole life. It’s the Rowley’s farm. They took me in when I was a baby.” Castiel wasn’t sure if Dean would be interested in these details, but the other boy nodded, as if he found everything Castiel said fascinating.

“So you’re an orphan. Right?”

“Yes. I’m lucky to have a home.” The Rowleys had told Castiel this often enough, and he knew it was true.

“That’s rough, man. So you work in the fields and live in the barn.”

Castiel nodded. “Up in the loft.”

“Cool. Maybe tomorrow my ankle will be better, and I can have a look-see.”

“I’m sure it will be better,” Castiel said with certainty.

Dean gave him a funny look, but didn’t comment on Castiel’s statement. “So, what do you do around here for fun?”

“Fun?’

“You know...fun.” Dean raised his eyebrows, as if Castiel was supposed to know what he meant.

Castiel supposed this was another instance of him being sheltered. “I don’t have time for fun, Dean. I work from sunrise to sunset. And then I go to bed.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed a bit, as if he could hardly believe, and definitely did not like, what Castiel was saying. “Well, that sucks, man.”

“It’s life,” Castiel said simply. He had the unpleasant feeling he wasn’t measuring up in any degree to the sort of friend Dean was used to having. It made him feel sad, but really, what could he do? This was his life. It was all he knew.

Tomorrow, as much as Castiel didn’t want to think about it, Dean would leave, and Castiel would return to his familiar, long work days, with little to think about except work, trying to find enough food to stop the ache in his belly, and sleep. Every night, he fell asleep the instant his head hit the straw. Much as he longed to be an interesting friend for Dean, and not be _sheltered_ , he could not pretend to be something he was not.

Fantasies were for dreams. Sometimes, Castiel dreamed of stars and comforting arms, and a sad lullaby. In the dreams, he could fly, and he always left this little farm far, far behind. However, the farm, right here and now, was his reality.

Castiel sighed. “Are you tired, Dean? The barn has an empty horse stall you could sleep in. I’ll bring straw. It should be comfortable.” It would hide Dean, too, should Ty Rowley visit the barn early tomorrow morning.

“Yeah, sure Cas.” His voice sounded subdued. “My ankle hurts like a bi... Uh, it hurts. Might help if I lie down and elevate it.”

This seemed sensible. Castiel tried to ignore how disappointed he felt that their conversation would end so soon. But he had suggested it, hadn’t he?

Castiel showed Dean to the clean stall, and brought in fresh, sweet hay to sleep on. Although the summer days were hot, it became quite chilly at night. Dean would probably get cold, and Castiel didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable.

So Castiel climbed to his loft, where a window let in a moonbeam, and gathered up his blue woolen blanket. He looked around for other items that might provide comfort for his guest. But his loft nest only consisted of a pile of straw, the old blanket in his arms, a worn set of clothes on a hook, a cup, and an old, rickety three-legged stool that he’d found in the trash heap and mended last winter. He’d placed the stool next to the window, so he could look outside. An old glass jar held a few pieces of charcoal, wrapped in cloth, and it rested beside some small, white sheets of bark. He liked to sketch birds and the forest. It was the only activity he did, just for himself. Maybe _that_ could be considered “fun,” he thought.

Castiel realized he had nothing else to offer his guest. Biting his lip, he climbed back down the ladder, jumping to bypass the last three rungs like he always did. He almost slammed into Dean, who was staring up at the ladder with a bemused smile, and a look of sparkling mischief in his eyes.

“It’d be so cool to live in a loft. You’ll show it to me tomorrow, won’t you, Cas?”

“Of course, Dean.” But Castiel had the sinking feeling his loft wouldn’t be nearly as “cool” as Dean imagined it might be. It seemed pretty easy to guess that “cool” in Dean’s mind meant special. And Castiel was pretty sure there was nothing about his loft, or himself either, for that matter, that was special. He didn’t want Dean to find that out.

Swallowing back an ache of unhappiness, he carried the blanket to Dean’s stall. There, he handed it to the other boy. “This will keep you warm. I’ll see you in the morning. Oh.” Castiel turned back. “If you hear old man Rowley...”

“Let me guess,” Dean said with a smirk. “Hide? He’s a mean old man who doesn’t like visitors.”

Castiel had never thought of Ty Rowley as _mean_ before. He tried his best not to think badly about anyone. “He’s not a happy man,” he explained. “And he has a short temper.”

“And you don’t meet his expectations. Right?”

How could Dean be so wise, and so knowing? He didn’t even know Rowley. “Please, just be careful.”

Dean touched two straight fingers to his forehead, and then flicked them out, as if in a salute. “Catch ya on the flip side, Cas.”

Castiel blinked. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“’Night, Cas.” Dean shut the stall door, and Castiel heard muffled movements as his new friend settled into his sleeping quarters.

Castiel drew a breath and stood unmoving for a moment, not understanding the reason for the sad ache in his chest. Well, maybe he did understand it. He liked Dean, and wanted to be friends with him. But clearly Castiel was very different than the friends Dean must have at home. And Dean would leave tomorrow. His ankle would be a lot better in the morning.

Castiel didn’t allow himself to wish that the healing would take just a little longer than he knew it would.

With a quiet sigh, he gathered up an armload of fresh straw and carried it up to the loft. Without his blanket, he’d be cold tonight.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean awoke to vicious pain. Violent, harsh lashes cut into his shoulder and back. Cringing, he raised his arm to cover his head and sprang to his feet.

“What the _hell_...”

“Get out! You _tramp,_ get out!” An old man with thinning hair and deep, scowling wrinkles struck again. The whip snapped, and wrapped painfully around Dean’s arm and chest. When the man jerked, freeing it, Dean fell to his knees. Pain seared around his body. Instinct and self-preservation made him roll to the far corner of the horse stall. He yanked loose his knife from his ankle strap, and rose in a crouch.

The thin old man, dressed in a nondescript gray shirt and pants, stepped toward Dean, gripping the whip in both fists. He reared back for another strike.

“ _Back off!_ ” Dean’s bark sounded just like his father’s. That surprised him.

Old man Rowley...it must be Rowley...surged forward, flaying the whip into Dean’s skin with swift, brutal violence. Dean had no opportunity to throw the knife, for he needed to use both arms to protect himself.

The whip hurt like a son of a bitch, but Dean refused to cry out. And he realized, in some distant part of his mind, that Rowley was trapping him in the stall. That the fury and violence of the attack weren’t letting up. That Rowley could kill him.

In that moment, everything slowed down. His gaze tracked the whip, and anticipated just when... Now! His knife slashed down, cutting it in half. Then, still crouching, and leading with his shoulder, he barreled into the narrow, empty space between Rowley and the wall, shoved him aside, and escaped from the stall.

“Come back here, _boy!_ ” Rowley bellowed.

Dean fled for the exit at the far end of the barn, where the ladder led to the loft. Legs appeared on the ladder, and a tall boy with messy dark hair sprang down into the barn. For a second, he looked confused, and then dark blue eyes narrowed into blazing slits.

“Stop!” Castiel lunged between Dean and Rowley. The raised whip slashed down, striking the other boy’s body, instead of Dean’s.

Old man Rowley heaved an angry breath. “Move, Castiel!”

“Dean is injured. I told him he could sleep here last night.”

Rowley’s scowl deepened. “This is _my_ barn, boy. You have no right to invite guests to _sleep_ over.”

Castiel’s confused gaze swung from Rowley to Dean. “It was dark, and he was lost. I believed I should be hospitable. Doesn’t the good book say to be hospitable, for you may shelter angels without knowing?”

A small snort escaped from Dean’s lips at that one. _He_ certainly was no angel. But Castiel certainly looked like one, with those remarkable, almost unearthly, blazing blue eyes and righteous anger tensing his shoulders. He matched Rowley’s height, and Dean wondered if Castiel realized it. That he could take the old man, if he wanted to.

“You’re late with your chores! Watering needs to get done. And _you,_ ” he advanced on Dean, jabbing the whip in his direction. “Get out. You’re not welcome.”

When Dean raised his hands in a placating manner, he realized he still held the knife in his fist. Rowley’s black eyes slitted.

“I’m going. Okay? I’m going.” Dean continued to grip the knife, for he didn’t trust the old man. He was nuts. Six pancakes short of a stack.

Dean did his best to stride with cocky confidence out of the barn, but his back and arms hurt like fire. His ankle ached too, but considerably less than yesterday. Wet trickled between his shoulder blades, and he thought at first he might be sweating. And then thunder rumbled overhead, and he thought it might be raining. Then he noticed a trickle down his arm. A stream of red darkened his cut sleeve. Blood.

“ _No!_ ” Violent emotion shuddered through Castiel’s low voice, and Dean’s stopped. The dark fury in Cas’s tone right now sounded so different—as night from day, as storm from sun—than the calm, even-tempered boy he’d met last night.

The thick summer air seemed to shimmer around Dean. A cool breeze stirred his hair, and gray thunder clouds rolled in, swiftly building up into a dark, towering mountain over the high hills surrounding the valley. A warm raindrop kissed his cheek, and rolled to his jaw. It felt as soft as a tear drop. The sky darkened by the second.

Deep in the bowels of the gathering storm, lightning flashed, and rain suddenly slashed down, pounding upon the earth, upon Dean’s head, and sluicing through his shirt. Thunder growled. Rain completely drenched his clothes within seconds.

Dean glanced back at the barn. Castiel stood in the yard, looking at Dean, and behind him, old man Rowley gazed at Castiel. An odd look pinched the old man’s features.

“Get inside,” Rowley abruptly snarled. The whip pointed at Dean. “But _you_ will leave tomorrow.”

Castiel turned to the old man. Although he said nothing, and Dean couldn’t see Castiel’s expression, Rowley cleared his throat. He muttered, “When you’re well.” The man strode across the pungent, rain soaked earth for the little house down the hill.

The tension eased from Castiel’s body, and he turned to Dean. “I am very sorry, Dean.”

He shoved the knife back in his ankle strap. As he straightened, he adopted an easy nonchalance and a careful grin. “Wanna tell me what the _hell_ is going on here, Cas?”


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel couldn’t explain what had just happened. He’d never felt so furious in his life as he had when he’d heard Rowley beating Dean. And when he’d seen the blood running down Dean’s slashed shirt...

The rage within him had felt volcanic...as if he could not contain its force.

Castiel had been seven when he’d last defied Rowley. That beating had convinced him to toe the line, and to be careful about it, ever since.

But just now he had _bellowed_ at Rowley. And Rowley had stopped beating Dean. He’d given in to Castiel’s wishes. He’d even looked a little disturbed, and scared. It bewildered Castiel. He didn’t understand it at all. And now Dean eyed him with a careful smile and a wary look, as if he was surprised. As if he didn’t know Cas at all. Castiel felt like he barely knew himself.

“I am sorry, Dean. I...I lost my temper. It doesn’t happen...well, ever.” Not like that, anyway. Sometimes, he did feel unbearably frustrated by his inability to meet the Rowley’s standards, but experiencing incandescent rage...never.

Dean glanced down the hill. His mouth twisted into a smirk. “Sent him scurrying, anyway, tail between his legs.”

Castiel felt uncomfortable. “I hope...”

Dean’s gaze swung back to him. “You hope what? That he won’t beat you, later?”

The understanding, and hint of compassion in the other boy’s eyes made a foreign sensation lump in Castiel’s throat. No one had ever cared about his feelings, or his fears before. Not ever. “I guess so. Yes.”

Dean nodded, and didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Hey. It’s none of my business, but you might want to hit the road. Leave this place, I mean. This farm, and Rowley, the way he treats you... It’s all _kinds_ of messed up. And I’ve just seen a little.”

“Where would I go? I’m only fourteen...well, almost fifteen. I don’t know anything about...anything.” His brief acquaintanceship with Dean had told him this quite clearly. Castiel realized he was woefully ignorant about the world outside the farm. He felt lost, drowning in a sea of uncertainty, doubt...and a longing he couldn’t quite name.

Dean smiled, and the sun chose that moment to peek out and gleam golden off of Dean’s hair, and it shot brilliant, clear rays into his eyes.. They were green. The color of birch leaves; a brilliant green in the sunlight, or, when the clouds scudded back in, they were the dark, quiet green of dusk, when the forest hid its deepest secrets.

“I have a clean shirt,” Castiel offered. It hurt him, almost as much as if the stripes had lashed into his own skin, to see the bloody marks on Dean’s body. “I’m sorry he beat you.”

Dean strode forward, brushing by his arm to enter the barn. “Not your fault, Cas.” Over his shoulder, he said, “Do I get to see that loft now?”

Castiel smiled, and, as an afterthought, lifted the bucket of water he’d pumped last night and hoisted it up the ladder. When he arrived in the loft, Dean had already stripped off his shirt, and he prowled around the one corner of the rafters that Castiel had claimed as his own. Castiel set down the bucket, and tried to see the loft through Dean’s eyes. He failed. He had no idea what sort of a home Dean lived in, but he felt certain it was nothing like Cas’s small nest.

Castiel chewed on his bottom lip. “It’s not much,” he said, knowing this must be a wild understatement. “But it’s home. Here.” He plucked his extra shirt off the wall. It was gray, but clean. Nothing like Dean’s pullover shirt, which was the color of fresh moss. It looked soft, too, the way it drooped in gentle folds where Dean had cast it onto the straw strewn floor. Castiel longed to touch it, but refrained.

Dean wore worn looking blue breeches that fit him well. They looked durable and clean, and made of a fabric Castiel had never seen before.

He extended the rough, gray shirt to Dean. “Take this. It’s clean.”

Dean didn’t take it, which bewildered Castiel. Wasn’t he being hospitable? Was he doing something wrong? Perhaps Dean wanted to clean his wounds first. Of course. Castiel reached for a small jar of ointment and handed it to Dean, who turned it between his fingers, dubiously eyeing the green paste inside.

“What’s this?”

“It’ll soothe the cuts, and help them to heal. Use as much as you’d like.”

“Thanks.” He carefully dipped up a gob and smeared it into the deepest gash on his arm, and around his chest. He got what he could, and then handed the jar to Cas. “Can you get the last one, on my back? It stings like a son of a... It hurts like he...”

Castiel eyed Dean in confusion. It seemed strange that Dean kept cutting his sentences short.

Dean turned, revealing the broken skin along his upper back. The flesh had flayed wide open. Cas felt sick that Rowley had hurt Dean like this. He smoothed the gritty paste into the skin and firm muscle, and then put the jar away. “Let it dry for a few minutes,” he advised. “Then it won’t stick to the shirt.”

Dean’s brow flicked up. “I won’t take your shirt, Cas.”

“Why not?” He felt more confused than ever. “Yours is ruined.”

“You have, how many? Two shirts? I’m not taking one of ’em. I have lots more at home. Plenty of them.”

Castiel wondered what “plenty” meant. Perhaps three shirts, or four? Dean must be rich, indeed. “Then return mine after you get home.”

Dean offered a crooked grin. “Is that an invitation to come back, Cas?”

Castiel’s cheeks warmed, and he felt flustered, too, although he didn’t know why. “If you would like to return, Dean, I would be honored.”

Dean’s mouth opened a little...in surprise?...and looked away with a short nod. “I’ll be back, Cas. Definitely.” He cleared his throat. “Changing the subject. Don’t mean to be demanding, or anything, but what’s the chance we could rustle up some breakfast?”

Castiel smiled proudly. “We have a bucket of fresh water. And a jar of milk, and...” he pulled out the small plate Mrs. Rowley had left on the back porch this morning. “A half a loaf of bread. And of course vegetables.”

“Of course.” While a half smile tugged at Dean’s mouth, he looked a bit...what? Taken aback? Amused?

Castiel frowned. “What would you like, Dean? Perhaps I can find something more to your liking.”

“ _No._ No, Cas, this is good. I was just thinking my dad would be proud of all the vegetables I’m eating.” Dean sat down cross-legged on the floor, and, after a hesitation, Cas sat opposite from him.

Cas dragged a burlap sack closer. “I also have apples. Do you like apples?”

“I love apples,” Dean said with clear sincerity. “And I _love_ apple pie.”

Castiel smiled, because he felt certain he should—however, he didn’t know what an apple pie was. “Then this breakfast is good enough, Dean?”

Dean looked at him, and a bit of sadness darkened his eyes. “This is perfect, Cas. I mean it. Thank you.”

He did mean it. Castiel relaxed, and smiled again. “Good.”

They ate companionably. Dean tore the bread in half, but Castiel noticed he took the smaller half. When Dean ate one apple, Castiel handed him another, and he accepted it with a grin, and washed it all down with fresh milk.

Castiel glanced at the untouched bucket of water. “The water is good, too, Dean.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m stuffed to the rafters, Cas. Can’t eat another bite.”

Cas looked at the water again. His mouth moved, but he said nothing. After all, he didn’t know for _sure._ He’d just noticed...and then something he’d heard in the village the other day seemed to confirm... He scooped up a dipperful and tested it. Sweet.  Good. “There’s not much left.”

“Can’t we pump more later?”

“It’ll be brackish today. It always is, after a storm.”

“So that’s the last of the good water? Until when?”

“Probably tomorrow.”

“Then let’s save it, then, and drink it later.”

Castiel nodded. However, he’d leave the remainder of the water in this bucket for Dean.

“So, what’s up for today?” Dean asked, licking his sticky, apple juice smeared fingers.

Castiel was glad that Dean had obviously enjoyed the meal he had prepared. Out loud, he listed the chores that constantly circled through his head. “I’ve already taken care of the animals. And it rained, so I don’t have to water the crops. And the well water is bitter, so I don’t need to pump water for the shop, either. I’ll need to pick vegetables for the shop, though, and gather up eggs. Perhaps you could help, Dean. After lunch I could take a few hours off.”

It was an unusual day, thanks to the thunderstorm, and Castiel was thankful it had happened on a day he had a new friend to spend it with. A sudden thought struck him. “Or do you need to go home soon?”

“My ankle could use an extra day. If it’s okay with you, I’ll go home tomorrow. No one’s waiting for me, anyway.”

Castiel’s happy grin matched Dean’s. “That sounds like a good idea. After lunch, I’ll show you the village. It will be fun.”

Dean smiled a little. “I’m sure it will be, Cas.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean helped Castiel pick and wash vegetables. After a quick drink of water from Castiel’s bucket, Dean helped his new friend cart the vegetables in wheelbarrows down to the Rowley’s shop at the base of the hill. It was located just below the Rowley’s house. His ankle felt better by the minute.

Castiel delicately balanced feathery lettuce bunches in his arms, and Dean carried carrots into the shop. An old woman with gray hair scraped back into a bun, and who wore a dark gray dress and long black shawl, scowled at Cas when they entered. “About time, boy.” She ignored Dean entirely. “Hurry up, now. The customers will arrive soon.”

Dean took note of the empty buckets lined against the back wall, and the price, 1 Δ. By comparison, a bunch of carrots cost 1 τ. Strange money symbols. They looked Greek. When they’d finished stocking the meager shelves, the old woman took her scowl outdoors to peer down the road.

Dean nudged Cas’s arm. “Hey. What do those symbols stand for?”

“Coins. I don’t know what each one means.”

The old woman cackled, making the hairs rise on the nape of Dean’s neck. “Castiel is stupid. An illiterate.” Her pale, malicious eyes looked the color of washed out mud.

Castiel looked down, his eyes dark, and bit his lower lip.

Dean’s lips twitched into the most polite, and yet abjectly false smile he owned. “Would you tell me, then? Mrs...Rowley?”

The hag blinked, and an equally false smile flickered. “Echna.” Something unpleasant stirred, deep in Dean’s hunter’s gut. He probably didn’t hide it fast enough, for her smile swiftly vanished, replaced by malice. “ _You_ are a stupid boy, too. Even halfwits know that one drachma equals twenty-four tetartemorions.”

That didn’t tell Dean much. “How long does it take to earn a drachma around here?”

“A drachma is a day’s wage for a farmer.”

Dean’s brows climbed. Surprise lifted Castiel’s eyebrows, too.

The old woman sent Castiel a contemptuous smirk. “A _laborer_ is only worth his room and board. _If_ he completes his tasks on time.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Dean turned away, dismissing the woman, while at the same time trying to hide the anger twisting his lips. He didn’t want his poor behavior to reflect back on Castiel. “Ready to go, Cas?”

“We’ll be back in time for milking,” Castiel earnestly assured the old woman. Dean wanted to shake him. Couldn’t he see that the Rowleys treated him like dirt?

Dean couldn’t get out of the shop quick enough, and he waited for Cas outside, biting back a string of colorful words he’d likely regret. He’d regret them because he knew Cas would bear the brunt of any future punishment.

With a happy smile, Cas joined him outside. “Where would you like to go first?”

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. “Doesn’t matter, man. Wherever you want is good.”

Castiel drifted into a sweet smelling candy shop, and Dean almost asked if Cas wanted to buy something. Then he swallowed back the words, but they felt like a stifling, choking knot in his throat. Cas, of course, didn’t have any money. Apparently laborers only earned room and board. He followed Castiel from shop to shop. The other boy followed his nose into a bakery, and then stood outside a small eatery, from which wafted mouthwatering barbeque smells.

Cas was obviously starving. Although his lean muscles, necessary to labor on the farm, rippled and flowed under his pallid gray shirt, the guy was otherwise stick thin. Dean found it harder and harder to bite back his anger. He wished he had a pocketful of money, and could buy Cas a real meal, with apple pie and any candy he wished to top it off. Dean unfortunately had no money on him. Even if he did, it wouldn’t be the currency the villagers traded.

 _What_ was this place, anyway? _Where_ was he? It seemed like he might be caught in a time warp of some kind. It felt like he’d stepped into a different century, or millennium. Dean wondered if he’d be able to find his way home tomorrow.

For now, he chose not to dwell on it. And he wondered why a bucket of water cost a day’s wage.

Cas wandered to the far end of the street, and stood there, looking a little lost.

Dean heard a river, and spotted the flash of flowing water through trees a short distance away. “C’mon.”

Cas followed him down a short path that led to a wide, grassy clearing dotted with picnic benches and a tree with a swing. A little girl swung there while her mother chatted with another woman at the far end of the park. The river flowed by in a rushing, frothing torrent over the huge boulders. It was about a hundred feet wide, and several boys fished upstream.

Castiel stood very still, watching the river rush by, a rapt expression on his face. As if he’d never seen anything quite so glorious before. “All this water,” he whispered. His eyes slid half shut, as if the water sang a lullaby to him that only he could hear.

A little voice piped up beside them. “I know you. You’re the boy from the farm.”

The little girl from the swing now stood close beside Cas, her long, pale blond hair snaking past her thin shoulders. Her eyes were a pale, sea foam blue, and her face open and earnest.

Castiel looked down and blinked. Gently, he said, “Yes. I am.”

“I’ve seen you. Far off,” the girl nodded. “I’m six. I’m Anastasia. But my friends call me Ana.”

Cas nodded.

“That means _you_ can call me Ana,” she said pointedly.

“Hey.” Dean cleared his throat and squatted down to meet the little girl at eye level. “I’m Dean, and this is Cas...Castiel.”

Ana smiled with approval. “Nice to meet you, Dean and Castiel.” She ran back to the swing. “Come push me,” she called.

Precocious little punk. Dean glanced at her mother, who paid no attention to her daughter. Maybe in this village they didn’t worry about psychos attacking little girls. It sat all wrong in his gut, as did more than a few things about this town.

He pushed the girl in the swing, while Cas watched.

Ana continued to chat at them while she swung. “It rained. Good thing Mama bought a bucket of water from Mrs. Growley yesterday.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. But when he said nothing, Dean said, “Good thing? What do you mean?”

“Well, we’ve still got lots. We make it last, ’cause it’s so ’spensive.”

Dean frowned. “You have a whole river. Why buy water from the Rowley’s shop?”

“ _Growley,_ ” she giggled. “’Cause it’s special water, silly. It makes me feel all better. Push me higher.” Dean obliged, and glanced at Cas. Understanding of some kind seemed to flicker across his features.

This place was getting weirder by the second. Special _water_? Maybe that was why it cost so much. Adding to that, Cas was trapped on a farm with Mr. and Mrs. Wicked Witch of the West. If Mrs. Rowley had told the truth, Cas was illiterate, too. And abused and overworked, and he seemed so innocent, as if not even recognizing all the crimes committed against him. It worked at Dean gut, feeling like an itch he wanted to tear out.

“Hey, you ever swung before, Cas?” He felt pretty sure of the answer.

“No, Dean.” Although Cas had been watching Ana in the swing, he’d made no move to indicate he might like to try it. He probably didn’t know he _could_ try it. That disturbed Dean, too.

“Hey Ana, let’s give Cas a turn.”

“Okay.” When the swing slowed, she hopped off.

Cas gingerly sat on the wooden seat. His hands curled around the rough, twisted rope, and with one toe, he gently pushed the swing back and forth.

“Push him, Dean!” Ana cried.

He wiggled his brows, making her laugh. “You read my mind. Hold on tight, Cas.”

Cas’s knuckles tightened around the ropes as Dean pulled the swing way back. He let go, and Cas rushed forward. A startled breath escaped from his lips.

“Hold on,” Dean advised, and when Cas swung back toward him, he pushed a firm hand into the middle of Cas’s back. Hard, knobby spine, bisected by hard muscle, dug into his palm as he pushed Cas forward again. After a few more perfect pushes, Cas swung a good four feet off the ground.

Dean jumped to the side and watched pure joy light Cas’s features. “It feels like flying, Dean!”

Dean smiled, surprised he could feel such happiness, just watching Cas enjoy something so simple. “You can go higher, man.” He coached him on how to keep the momentum going on his own. Cas caught on fast, although he seemed to choose to stay within about five feet of the ground. Finally, he allowed the swing to slow.

“Your turn.”

“I’ll show you flying,” Dean promised, and told Ana, “I’ll be quick.” She was waiting patiently, but Dean knew from having a little brother that patience didn’t last long at that age.

Dean pushed off, and in a few short leg pumps flew almost perpendicular with the tree branch to which the rope was tied. It was about ten feet high. No sweat. He’d done this before. “Stand clear,” he shouted, and the other two backed up. Castiel looked confused, but Ana crossed her arms and frowned.

Dean leaped out of the swing as it flew forward, and landed on his feet in a crouch. But the forward moment kept him going, and he did a somersault. He stood, laughing, and brushed off his clothes.

“That was dangerous, Dean,” Ana scolded. “Don’t _ever_ do that again.”

Dean grinned at Cas, who looked a bit dumbfounded.

“Ana,” her mother called. “Time to go.”

“’Bye,” she called. “We’re friends now, Castiel. Remember. Don’t ’nore me now. Bye, Dean.”

“That was fun.” Castiel glanced at the sun, and regret pulled at his features. “It’s time for chores. I should get back.”

“I’ll help you.” Dean’s ankle didn’t hurt anymore, and the gashes inflicted by Rowley only stung a bit. But he didn’t plan to live on raw vegetables and fruit tonight. He had an idea. But wouldn’t tell Cas, for he didn’t want to ruin the surprise.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean was quiet on the walk back to the farm, and his expression inscrutable. Castiel wondered what his new friend was thinking about. Had Dean enjoyed visiting the village?

The swing had been fun. Castiel had loved the exhilarating feeling of flying. Tonight, when he lay down to sleep, he’d do his best to remember every sensation: the soft feel of the breeze fluttering through his hair, the stomach dropping plunge as the swing fell backward and the feeling of soaring high into the sky.

He’d wanted to jump off the swing, as Dean had done, but instead he’d wanted to fly up into the cloudless blue sky. A fantasy. A dream. Perhaps tonight he would have good dreams.

Excluding this morning, it had been a good day. The best one of his life, he decided, and hummed softly to himself. A song darted through his mind, like the little fish he sometimes saw in the stream near home. Little flashes of melody that twinkled like stars. A melody he’d never heard before, but was familiar, all the same.

Before they reached the farm, Dean said, “I’ll catch up with you in a few. Meet up at the barn?”

Castiel nodded. “Of course.” He watched the other boy veer left and hike into the woods, in the direction of the stream. He wondered what Dean planned to do, but when Castiel reached the barn, he forgot about everything but work for a long time. He cut wood, weeded the vegetable garden, fed the pigs and chickens, and was about to milk the cows when Dean returned.

Dean didn’t say where he’d been, but he looked mighty pleased with himself. Castiel didn’t ask questions. He figured Dean would tell him, if he wanted Cas to know.

“All I have left is the milking,” he told his new friend. “It won’t take long.”

Dean followed him into the barn, where two cows docilely chewed their cud in the same large pen. “Can I help?”

Cas had just pulled up a milking stool to the black and white cow named Sweet Pea, and he glanced at Dean in surprise. “Do you know how to milk a cow?”

Dean grinned, and pulled up a stool next to Bess. “I could learn.”

Cas carefully demonstrated, and then soon got a rhythm going on two of the cow’s teats. Milk thrummed into the bucket. Dean awkwardly tried to duplicate the technique and rhythm, and after a little while a few spurts of milk hit the bottom of the bucket.

Castiel grinned. “Put your hands like this.” With easy skill, milk streamed into his pail.

“You’ve got a way with the ladies,” Dean said, with a knowing grin.

Castiel’s ears warmed, but he didn’t know how to respond to Dean’s teasing comment. He didn’t know any girls, and what Dean was implying... His ears felt even hotter. A wet spurt hit his cheek. A quick glance spotted Dean chewing on the inside of his cheek, hiding a smile as he stared into his bucket. Milk now streamed at a fairly even pace into the pail.

Dean had hit him on purpose. For a second, he felt dumbfounded. Rowley would certainly never approve of the waste of milk. And for another, the thought of playing with milk had never crossed his mind. Ever. In that moment, he wondered if a great number of things had never crossed his mind. Probably. The whole _sheltered_ thing, again.

“Miss the bucket, Dean?” he said mildly.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” But his tiny grin belied the statement.

Castiel continued to placidly milk the cow, but inside, an overwhelming urge to make mischief made his fingers itch. Barely thinking about it, he shot a milk stream into the corner of Dean’s eye.

Dean visibly jumped. “Holy _shi.._.”A grin tugged at his lips. Surprisingly, he did nothing to retaliate.

A mixture of trepidation and anticipation shot tiny frissons of adrenaline through Castiel’s veins. Somehow, he knew the game was on.

Milk hit him in the ear next. His next spurt hit Dean in the mouth. By then, they both giggled uncontrollably. During the next few minutes, more milk rained onto their skin and clothes than into the pails.

Cheeks aching from laughing, Castiel finally wiped his face. “We’d better finish. Echna will notice if we waste more milk.”

Soon after, Castiel carried the two buckets down the hill to where the stream curved near the shop. He placed it in a shallow, slow moving pool, where it would remain cool until morning. Feeling hopeful, he next trekked over to the back porch, looking for his dinner plate. He found a half a loaf of bread on it. No meat. Again. He felt Echna’s pale amber eyes watching him as he lifted the hunk of bread and trekked back up the hill to the barn.

An ache of disappointment dulled the happiness he’d felt while horsing around with Dean. Although leftover vegetables and fruit still remained from this morning, he’d wanted to give his friend a better meal than bread and vegetables tonight. He didn’t feel like a very good host, and was grateful that Dean had stayed to visit for as long as he had. Tomorrow, though, he would leave, and Castiel did not blame him. Unhappiness squeezed like a fist around his heart.

However, there was one good thing to be thankful for—Rowley was nowhere to be seen, and the nagging fear that the man would try to beat him for this morning’s insubordination gradually faded. Ty’s temper tended to whip up like a tornado, leaving behind complete destruction, but it faded just as quickly. Usually, he either ignored Castiel or barked orders.

Castiel found Dean drinking a dipperful of water from the bucket when he returned, which pleased him. He’d noticed that Dean moved easily now. He hadn’t favored his ankle since this morning, and the easy movement of his arms and torso indicated Rowley’s lashes were healing quickly, as well.

Water dripped from the corners of Dean’s mouth. He held out the dipper to Castiel. “Last scoop. Want it?”

“Thank you. But the milk was enough for me. You can finish it.” Castiel didn’t say that while the milk was delicious, it never quite quenched his thirst like the sweet well water did. And he never drank the brackish well water that stirred up after a storm. It made him feel sick. Almost like it corroded his soul; which he supposed would sound fanciful and ridiculous if he said it out loud. Whatever the case, he made a point never to drink it.

Dean eyed the hunk of bread in Castiel’s hands. “Great. I’ve got the apples.” He hoisted the small burlap back over his shoulder. “We’re done for the night, right?”

“Yes...”

With a grin, Dean said, “Follow me.”

Castiel followed Dean into the woods, wondering where he was taking him. They reached the stream, and his friend balanced on sure feet, hopping across it. Castiel followed, and Dean followed the gurgling water upstream for a good five minutes.

A freshly made fire pit, filled with sticks and kindling, appeared at the stream’s edge, and a pole, wedged between two boulders, leaned over the brook. Dean dropped the bag of apples to the ground. Castiel slowly set down his own items, and noticed the taut string attached to the pole. It bobbed and jerked in the swift current.

“Ta da!” Dean swept out an arm, offering a crooked grin. “We’re gonna feast tonight, Cas. No offense, but I can only take so many fruits and vegetables.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say. Clearly, Dean had wanted to surprise him. But with what? A fire? A picnic outdoors? “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean’s grin widened. “You still don’t get it, do you? C’mere.” He climbed onto the rocks and Castiel moved closer with interest as Dean pulled on the string, looping it up in his has fist, until... Castiel drew a quick breath. Three silvery fish, each longer than his hand, flashed in the evening light.

“Cleaned and gutted,” Dean said, and returned to the campfire. From his pocket, he pulled out a small packet of thin sticks, each topped by a small red knob, and struck one against a rock. Fire flared from the tip, and he dropped it into the kindling in the fire pit. Filled with wonder, Castiel crouched beside him, watching the unusual fire starter stick burn. Flames whooshed up, and Dean carefully built up the fire, and laid thicker sticks across the top. He lay the fish on top of these.

“Voila! Supper will be ready in ten minutes,” he said with a cocky grin. “Might be a bit burned, but hey, that’s okay, right?” He took a closer look at Castiel. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Castiel realized his mouth hung open, and moisture stung his eyes, making it a little difficult to see. Dean had done all of this for _him_ ; well, for Dean, too. But somehow, Castiel knew it was mostly for himself. He always felt like he was starving, and Dean had wanted to help.

How pathetic must he look to his new friend? Castiel had no idea how to provide for his own basic needs, even when the Rowleys wouldn’t feed him enough food. Most days, he only survived on milk and vegetables.

“Thank you, Dean.” He bit his lip. “You must think I’m really stupid.”

Dean’s face fell. “No, man! Why would you think that?”

Castiel gestured at the campfire, and the fish. “I...I don’t know how to do any of this. Well, I can start a fire. But I’ve never caught a fish. I didn’t know I _could._ ”

Dean smiled, and his eyes looked kind, his smile gentle. “I’ll teach you, Cas. I’ll teach you everything you need to know. I’ll need to go home tomorrow, but I’ll come back. I’ll help you with your chores so you can get time off. And I’ll help you...” The words seemed to get caught in his throat. “I’ll help you learn everything you need to know to survive. To thrive. To he... To heck with the Rowleys.”

Now Castiel’s eyes stung even more. “Thank you, Dean. But I have nothing to offer you.”

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Man.” He laughed, and shook his head, as if Castiel didn’t get something. He looked at Castiel, and sincerity shone in his green eyes. “I’m having a da... dang good time. Okay, buddy?”

“Okay, Dean.” But Castiel still wished he had more to offer his new friend. “Could I ask you something?”

“Sure. Shoot. Whatever you want.” Dean poked the fish with a stick.

“Why do you stop talking—like you’re cutting your words in half? You’ve done it several times now. Like bi... and he... and da...”

“You remember all those?” Dean laughed. “Truth is, I say a lot of bad words. You’re innocent of all that cra... All that junk.” He remained silent for a moment, and a little discomfort pulled at his features. “Maybe it’s like with Sammy, my brother. I don’t want to corrupt you. You seem...I don’t know...” He shrugged, clearly finding it difficult to put words to his thoughts. “It’s hard to explain. Don’t laugh, but this morning when you jumped down that ladder and tore into Rowley...you looked like some sort of...I don’t know. Avenging angel. I guess...I respect you, man.”

Castiel felt pleased. Dean liked and valued him. Although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve such accolades, he smiled. “And I respect you, too, Dean. After supper, will you teach me how to catch fish?”

“I’ll show you now.” Dean seemed anxious to end the heart-to-heart chat. “Being a hunter has its perks.”

Cas caught a fish, and Dean showed him how to gut it. The innards were slippery and slimy, but it was better than killing chickens. Castiel hated killing the birds, but it was a fact of life on the farm. At least the butcher took care of the pigs.

The fish tasted wonderful, and Castiel felt good, like he’d accomplished something worthwhile. He’d caught part of his meal, and had provided for his own needs. He could do so again, when he needed to in the future.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said, when they’d finished, and buried the fish bones.

“Being hungry can’t be fun.” After a moment, Dean said,. “Do you ever swipe an egg from the henhouse? Sammy’s always going on about how eggs are the perfect food.”

“I have. A few times,” Castiel admitted. “But I felt like I was stealing. I didn’t like it.”

Dean nodded. “I’ll show you how to trap soon, if we have time.”

They sat across the fire from each other, watching the last embers crackle and burn. Castiel couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy in his life.

“Hey Cas, I’ve got a question. Don’t answer if, you know, it makes you uncomfortable.”

“You can ask me anything, Dean.”

“Yeah, so...” Dean poked at the fire with a short branch. “Is it true you’re illiterate? You don’t know how to read or write...or how to do math?”

Castiel looked down, feeling shame sink like a brick into his stomach. “I’m not smart. I’m good for tending a farm, and that’s it.” The Rowleys had told him so often enough. It must be true.

“That’s a bucket of horseshi...” Dean cut short the words, and Castiel stared at him, bewildered. “I’ll prove it.”

“How?”

“Can you count to ten?”

“Of course.” Castiel easily counted to ten, and when Dean quirked his brow, encouraging him to continue on, he finished up at one hundred,. “I don’t know what comes after one hundred,” he confessed, feeling stupid again.

“One hundred and one. And then one hundred and two.”

Castiel laughed in surprise. “Really? That’s not hard.”

“Go on. Keep counting,” Dean leaned back against a rock as if it was the most comfortable place in the world, and as if there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than listening to Castiel count. He prompted Cas at two hundred, and then Castiel guessed for three hundred, and so on.

He quit counting at four hundred and fifty. “After that, it’s five hundred, six hundred...” He thought for a second. “And what comes after nine hundred ninety-nine?”

“One thousand. Then one thousand and one.” Dean smiled, and his eyes looked warm, like he was really proud of him. Responding to Castiel’s next questions, Dean told him about one hundred thousand, and then one million, one billion, and then one trillion. “That’s as far as I know,” he confessed. “The national debt is somewhere up there, but I’m not sure what comes next. Maybe a gazillion.”

Castiel smiled, committing all of these new facts to memory.

“And hey,” Dean leaned forward. “Do you know how to write numbers?”

Castiel watched with interest as Dean used a sharp stick to write in the dirt. Numbers. He’d seen them in the Rowley’s shop. Carefully, Castiel copied the numbers from zero to nine.

Dean sat back. “You can make any number in the world, just by using those ten numbers.”

Castiel felt amazed. But he didn’t want to stop now. His mind felt thirsty, eager to learn more. “Show me how to write the numbers ‘one hundred,’ and ‘one thousand.’”

Dean showed him a trillion, too, and the number of zeros amazed Castiel. “That must be more than the stars in the sky.”

“Then our country is in a sh... bucket load of trouble.”

The numbers swam in Castiel’s mind, and he leaned back, gazing up at the sky. The sun had disappeared behind the trees, and the late evening twilight darkened the overhead canopy. The peace of the limitless night sky, and the new knowledge whirling in his brain made him feel happy. Strangely, it felt as if the sky, with all of its bright, emerging pinpoints of starry light, promised that more knowledge lived out there, waiting for him. Just beyond his fingertips.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem. And for the record, the Rowleys are the idiots. You’re smart, Cas. Real smart. It probably took me two years in grade school to learn to count to a trillion.”

Castiel smiled. “Thank you. But you were probably a little child. I feel like I’ve been waiting all my life to learn.”

“Yeah.” Dean eyed him. “I’m no teacher, Cas.” He gave a short, self-deprecating huff. “School’s not my favorite subject. But I do know how to read. I could teach you the alphabet, and maybe teach you how to read a few words, too.”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel said immediately. “I would like that. Would you teach me when you return?”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want.” He smiled, and Castiel grinned back at him, his heart filled to the brim with happiness.

As the dusk deepened into darkness, Dean followed Castiel back to the farm. Henry squealed in the pig pen when they entered the barn; no doubt wanting a snack. Castiel didn’t feel sorry for him, but he did feel bad for the smaller piglets, who pushed up against the fence. Henry had probably eaten half of their supper.

“’Night, Cas.” Dean stepped into the horse stall. “Oh, wait.” He re-emerged with Castiel’s blanket. “You’ll need this tonight.”

Castiel frowned. “No, Dean...”

He shoved it gently into his hands. “I insist, man. It’s warm down here with all those pigs and horses around. I’m sure the loft is a lot colder.”

Dean meant it, so Castiel reluctantly took it. “Goodnight.”

“’Night, Cas.” The horse stall door closed behind his friend.

Castiel settled in his loft with the musty old blanket pulled tightly around him. Dean had taught him how to count up to a trillion. And soon he’d teach him the alphabet. Could he truly learn how to read? Were the Rowleys wrong about his intelligence? If they were, how many other things might be false? How many things did he believe about himself that weren’t true?

He was so lucky that Dean had come. And that he’d stayed all day. And while Dean would return home tomorrow, he’d promised to return to visit. He’d even promised to help Castiel with his chores and to teach him how to trap, if there was time. Castiel wasn’t sure what he could offer Dean in return. Why did the other boy like him? Cas had no idea, but as he gazed out the window at the twinkling stars above, he whispered a prayer of thanks for his new friend.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Castiel awoke before dawn with numbers still singing through his brain. As dawn lit the sky in the east, he pulled out a pale piece of bark, a stick of charcoal, and carefully practiced writing numbers. He wrote the biggest number he could think of, using all nine different numbers, and felt proud of himself when he thought back through all Dean had taught him last night. He remembered every word.

His fingers itched to draw, and so he cast a quick glance at the sun, decided he had a few minutes to spare before milking, and let his fingers sketch whatever they wanted. A picture of last night at the fire pit emerged, with Dean poking at the fire, laughing, with mischief in his eyes. It was the best picture Castiel had ever drawn. He gazed at it for a long moment, absorbing the happy memories.

A few minutes later, Dean met him at the base of the ladder, with his hands in his pockets, and clearly ready to go. “My dad will be home this morning. I’ll come back when I can. Maybe tonight. At the latest, tomorrow afternoon.”

Castiel nodded. Disappointment stabbed him. Dean seemed eager to leave, and he didn’t plan to return as soon as he’d hoped, either.

“Sammy’s coming back this afternoon, too,” Dean told him. Understanding softened his gaze. “My dad will probably insist on some family time. But I’ll be back, Cas. Count on it.”

Castiel nodded, and forced a smile to his lips. “Thank you, Dean, for everything. And for teaching me to count. I hope you have a wonderful time with your family.”

“Yeah.” A half smile tugged at Dean’s lips. It looked wistful as he looked at Castiel, and then away, toward the barn door. “So, later man, right?”

“Later,” Castiel agreed gravely. He returned Dean’s cocky half wave, and watched his friend stride out of the barn, his ankle fully healed. Fully fit for his return home...wherever that might be.

Henry’s indignant squeal made it clear that Castiel had delayed his chores long enough. Heart feeling heavy, he turned to his tasks.

*****

The sun seemed hotter, and his clothes more itchy over the next few days. Castiel attended to his chores from sunup to sundown with his usual quiet diligence. At lunchtime, he practiced writing numbers in the dirt. In the evening, the Rowleys gave him meat and bread. It seemed as if the storm that had brewed up shortly after Dean’s arrival had swept away, leaving cloudless blue skies and a quiet, still waiting.

Castiel didn’t like the narrow-eyed looks Ty Rowley gave him from time to time, however, but the man left Castiel alone, and Castiel did his best to work hard and deflect attention away from himself. It felt like before; before Dean came, when what Castiel had wanted above all was peace. And food. But now he wanted something else. And the quiet peace of the farm felt empty, and his soul discontented.

He missed Dean, and he missed having fun and enjoying life. He liked having a friend who thought differently than he did. Who made him think about life in new ways. Castiel thirsted for that. He hungered for more than this farm could give him.

On the evening of the third day after Dean’s departure, Castiel ate his cold food on a tree stump beside the barn. Dean still had not returned, and he wondered if he ever would. _Why_ would he want to return, anyway? Cas had nothing to offer his new friend, except for sheltered ignorance. And the clever skills of pumping water and milking a cow.

Castiel sighed, and rubbed a hand across his face. His skin felt sticky, and his hair clumpy. A bucket bath, using cool stream water, would feel good on his skin.

“You look like hell.” Dean’s rough voice, warmed with a smile, made Castiel look up so fast he nearly knocked his head against the barn wall.

“Dean,” he said inanely.

“Sorry it took so long. Dad took us on a family hunt.” Dean shrugged, but his warm smile lingered, as if he was happy to see Castiel

“You must be good hunters, you and Sam. Learning how to hunt so young.” Castiel didn’t know what he was saying, but the joy welling up in his soul as he gazed at Dean’s smiling face made him feel a bit dizzy. “What did you hunt?”

Dean’s face closed off and he glanced away, as if uncomfortable with the question. “This and that. What’s been going on around here? The Rowleys treating you right? Feeding you?”

“It’s been quiet. And peaceful.”

“Then it’s time I came back,” Dean said, with a grin. “You done for the day? Let’s do something.”

Castiel smiled, unable to hide the happiness he felt. An idea kicked in. “Do you like to swim?”

“Love to swim.” Dean followed Castiel north through the field, and then Cas turned west, into the nearby woods. When they hit the stream, they followed its twists and turns further north. They passed the fire pit and climbed steadily higher until the trees suddenly broke open, and a deep pool of shimmering green water sparkled in the fading sunlight. Far above them loomed a high hill, and a cave, too, which Castiel had explored a little when he was younger.

The cool water looked irresistible, and he dove in fully clothed. His sweaty clothes needed washing anyway. This accomplished two tasks at once.

Dean stripped off his shirt and jeans. He wore shorts beneath, and he dove into the water, too. He surfaced, shaking his head so water droplets flew in every direction, and he laughed, teeth flashing white in the sun. “Race you, Cas.” He took off for the opposite end of the pool. Laughing, Castiel swam swiftly after him. His clothes slowed him down, so he stripped off the shirt and flung it on the bank when they returned.

“We’ll go again,” he told Dean. “One, two...three!”

Dean took off at a fast, powerful crawl for the other side, and Castiel slid through the water as swiftly as the silver fish darting below the surface. With a smooth kick, and he flipped underwater and swam back. They arrived at the same time, although Dean was breathing harder than Cas.

“You’re fast,” Dean said. “You swim like a fish. Like it’s effortless.”

“I feel at home in the water,” Castiel said, floating on his back, looking up at the sky. “Peaceful. Like everything will be all right.”

“Must be a nice feeling.”

Castiel glanced over at Dean, and caught a pensive expression on his face. He jackknifed to tread water. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing, Cas.”

Dean wasn’t telling him something, and Castiel had an inkling it had something to do with the hunt Dean had mentioned earlier. “Do you dislike hunting?”

“I don’t like killing. But sometimes it’s necessary.”

“To eat, if you’re hungry,” Castiel nodded.

“Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat. “Sometimes it’s not that simple. Hey, wanna race again?”

Dean clearly didn’t want to talk about the hunt. Although Cas wanted to help his friend if he could, perhaps it would be best to bring up the subject another time. Or wait until Dean said more about it. Although Castiel had the feeling that might never happen.

After swimming, the two lay on the grassy bank and allowed the sun to dry them off.

“I remember the numbers, Dean,” Castiel said. “And I’ve practiced writing them every day.”

His friend sat up on one elbow. “Do you still want to learn...”

“Yes,” he said quickly, sitting up. “If it won’t bore you, I would like to learn everything you’d like to teach me.”

Dean eyed him for a moment. “Yeah. _That’s_ a comment that leaves you wide open. But you’re so da... so innocent.” He took a deep breath, and his usual, devilish grin curved his lips. “Let’s go back to the fire pit. The dirt’s better there.”

After pulling on their clothes, they headed back to the fire pit, where Dean drew the alphabet in the dirt. While Castiel carefully copied the letters, Dean helpfully told him the sounds each letter made.

When Castiel had finished writing, Dean said. “See, I’ll write c...a...t. So, if you sound the letters together it sounds like...”

“Cat,” Castiel said immediately.

Dean blinked. “Yeah. Guess this one.” He wrote d-o-g.

“Dog.”

He shot him a look of amazement. Castiel next read _and_ , _hand_ , _pit_ , and a number of other words with ease.

“Da... You’re super smart, Cas. But I’m gonna throw you a curve ball, okay?”

Castiel nodded, although he wasn’t sure what a curve ball was.

“When certain letters are next to each other, they make a different sound. Like ar, and the word ‘farm.’” He wrote it in the dirt.

Castiel wondered briefly if letters were like people. On their own they made one sound, but together, they made a whole new sound, and created brand new words that would never exist if they weren’t knit together.

Over the next hour, Castiel drank in each drop of knowledge as if it was the sweet well water he craved each day.

Finally, Dean stopped, and just stared at him. “Cas,” he said carefully, “I think you might be a genius.”

“What’s that?” He busily wrote new words in the dirt. _Tre_ and _gras_.

“Scary smart. Smart as my brother Sammy, and maybe even smarter. That’s shi... scary.” Dean saw what he’d written, and corrected the words to read _tree_ and _grass_.

“I enjoy learning.” Castiel smiled. It felt as if sunlight...or starlight, since it was getting dark...lit him from the inside out. Dean watched him with a faint gleam of affection in his eyes, and a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re a wonderful teacher, Dean.”

“I think it’s the student who’s making me look good.” Dean glanced up. “I should probably head home.”

“I’ll walk with you.” Castiel wanted to see where Dean lived. To tell the truth, he wanted to be able to visit Dean, too. So he wouldn’t be at the mercy of waiting and wondering if Dean would ever return.

“It’s getting dark, and it’s too far for you to walk both ways.”

Castiel wondered why Dean seemed suddenly evasive again. Didn’t he want Castiel to visit him? The thought that he might not, hurt. “Okay,” he said quietly.

Dean glanced at Castiel, and it was if he could read his mind. “We’re leaving the day after tomorrow, Cas. Our plans changed. I didn’t want to tell you. But...I’ve got one day left. I can come visit tomorrow afternoon, and stay for a while. Dad wants me back in the evening, because it’s my birthday. Midsummer’s Eve. I think he’s superstitious, and thinks the faeries might spirit me away. He never lets me out after dark on that night.”

“Oh.” Castiel felt like someone had kicked a boot into his chest. It felt as if his world was falling away around him; his hopes and dreams crumbling into the hard reality of the rocks and dirt of the farm. His only friend was leaving. Tomorrow would be the last day he’d ever see him. “Will you ever...” he licked his lips. “Come back?”

“If it’s up to me, we’ll come back every summer.” Although Dean’s tone sounded light, his gaze, which met Castiel’s, looked serious. And sad, too. That made him feel better, to think Dean felt sad about leaving, too.

Castiel nodded, and managed to force a smile to his lips. “Midsummer’s Eve is special around here, too. The Rowleys shoot off fireworks almost every year.”

“Really? Strange. They strike me as a couple of cheapskates.”

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t know how many fireworks they light. I’ve never seen most of them. Something about Midsummer’s Eve doesn’t agree with me. I usually feel sick, and have a stomach ache.”

Dean frowned. “Strange.”

“It _is_ strange. Because every morning on Midsummer’s Eve I wake up feeling...” he glanced at Dean. “This will sound even odder.”

“No. Go on.”

“Well, I feel light inside...like joy is calling to me. Like I could fly, if only I knew how. But every evening...” Castiel shook his head. “I can’t explain it.”

Dean said nothing as they trekked downstream. “So, when’s your birthday, Cas?”

“I don’t know. It’s in the summer. I’ll be turning fifteen this year.”

“Me, too.” They broke through the trees and the barn loomed close by, a dark, shadowy shape beneath the large white moon. “You don’t know your birthday?”

“The Rowleys said someone left me near the well in late June. I don’t know more than that.”

“It’s late June now. Tomorrow is the 20th. Midsummer’s Eve. Maybe we have the same birthday.”

Castiel’s heart lifted at that thought. He liked that idea.

Dean’s teeth flashed white in the falling dusk, clearly warming to his idea. “Since you don’t know your real birthday, we could pretend we have the same one.”

“Well...”

“Come on, man, it would be fun to have the same birthday. Birthdays are important. And mine is doubly specially—special enough to share.”

Castiel believed that any day Dean had been born had been a special day indeed. But he thought Dean might be driving at something different. “What do you mean?”

“Dad said a huge falling star streaked across the sky the night I was born. He’s never seen anything like it, before or since. And astronomers didn’t catch it. It’s as if it never happened. But Dad swears it did. I was born about a hundred miles away from our summer rental, in Seattle.”

“It does sound special. And I would be honored to share your birthday, if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind.”

“Mind? I think it would be awesome, man!” Dean slung an arm around his shoulders, and jerked him close for a second, before dropping his arm. “That’s great. Cool. So I’ll meet you at the barn tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll help you finish up chores. Then we’ll split, and celebrate our birthday. And if we have time, I’ll teach you how to set a snare for rabbits.”

“All right, Dean.” Castiel smiled with true happiness. Dean waved in farewell, and then he was gone, melting north into the trees toward home.

Castiel liked the idea of celebrating his birthday on Midsummer’s Eve. And it was Dean’s birthday, too. Something about this seemed right. That day had always seemed special to him, although it usually ended up terribly. But maybe this year would be different, because now the day would be doubly special. Castiel couldn’t wait until tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 7

“Come on, Sammy. We’re almost there.” Dean broke through the clearing. Ahead he saw an old abandoned shack, and a bit further on, the barn, and then the Rowley’s house in the distance.

His eleven-year-old brother looked around with wide eyes, taking in the scenery. “The forest is different here. It changed back at those two trees. And look at all those blue flowers. Larkspur.”

“Really, Sammy? You know _flower_ names?” Dean glanced at the plants which dotted this northern section of unplanted ground. They also grew in thick clumps next to the barn. The tall green stalks fluffed out in a club of flowers at the top of each stalk. Sam was right about one thing, though. Those flowers were _blue_. A dark, brilliant blue he couldn’t put a name to. They reminded him of something... _Something_. And then he knew.

Cas’s eyes.

 _Oh man, he did_ not _just think that._

“We learned about Larkspur in Greek mythology.” Sam sent him a sideways scowl.

“Yeah, okay. Keep up.” Dean strode faster, hefting his heavy backpack higher on his shoulders. He didn’t care a whole lot about Greek mythology. In fact, he’d slept through that subject in school a few years back. But he did care about one thing—he couldn’t wait to see Cas’s face when he showed him what was inside the backpack.

“I _am_ keeping up!” Sam pulled a face, looking like a mulish puppy with his long legs and big feet.

Dean didn’t mind much that Sammy was with him. He was a good kid, and Dean felt sure Sam would like Cas, too. Not that he’d had much choice about Sammy tagging along this afternoon. Dad had asked him to keep an eye on his brother, while he attended to some “business.” They were supposed to be back at the rental by nightfall. Then they’d have pizza and ice cream sundaes for Dean’s birthday. Right now, his watch said it was four o’clock in the afternoon, and he estimated they had at least three hours before they’d need to return home.

The barn was quiet when they arrived. Dean saw no one in the fields, or near the Rowley’s cabin or store. Barely a breath of a breeze stirred the tender leaves in the field.

“Cas will be back soon. Let’s wait for him inside.” Dean didn’t want crazy old man Rowley to spot them, or to get an inkling to lay into him or Sam.

The cows’ udders looked empty, and a little further into the dimly lit barn, the pigs grunted in their pen, slurping up the last of their slop.

“Cas must have finished his chores,” Dean muttered. “I think he milks the cows last.” He was disappointed, because he’d wanted to help Cas with his chores today. He’d promised to do so, and it was their shared birthday. Clearly, it was also the first one Cas had ever celebrated. Dean had wanted to make it doubly special for his new friend.

Always curious about new places, Sam darted right, toward the hog pen. “That pig is _huge._ ” And then, “Oh. _Dean._ ” The fear in Sammy’s voice made Dean dash to catch up.

Beside the pig pen, Cas lay the barn floor, his body curled up in a tight fetal position.

“Cas! _Cas!_ ” Dean dropped to his knees.

The other boy moaned. His dark hair stuck in clumps to his pale face, and his arms clenched harder around his knees, curling in on himself.

“What happened? _Cas._ ”

Castiel’s eyes flickered open. They looked glassy. “Dean.” The word sounded small and choked.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Dean, look,” Sammy said, toeing at a nearby plate. It lay near the slatted pigpen fence, and was half filled with meat and potatoes.

Dean knew a little first aid, thanks to the frequent injuries which were part and parcel of being a hunter. “Cas,” he said urgently. “Did you eat the food?”

He gave an imperceptible nod.

“Did the pain start afterward?” Another nod. Dean hauled him upright. “Then you need to upchuck it, buddy. Sammy, help me get him out of here.”

Sam kicked the plate aside, and with Dean hooking his hands under Cas’s armpits and Sammy lifting his legs, they carried Cas outside, and set him in the tall grass beside the barn. Larkspur bobbed in the breeze, and soft, fluffy petals brushed his cheek. Dean helped Castiel onto his knees. “Come on, buddy, throw it up.”

Tears slipped down his cheeks. “I don’t...know how.... It hurts _so_ much!”

“Open your mouth,” Dean said tersely, and when Cas trustingly did so, shoved a finger down his friend’s throat. Cas gagged immediately, and his dinner flew into the dirt. Once he started retching, he couldn’t seem to stop, until only dirty drool dripped from his lips.

Finally, he stopped. Dean grabbed a fistful of dried grass near his hip and used it to gently wipe Castiel’s mouth. Tears still dripped down Cas’s face. He must still be in some severe pain. Cas whispered something, and Dean leaned closer to hear. “What’s that, Cas?”

“Bring me water...from barn.”

Sam ran off and came back with the bucket. Dean helped Cas move to a clean section of grass, and Cas dipped his hands into the bucket and lifted a scoopful to his lips. He spat it back out, and slumped sideways. Dean caught him and held him steady. “What’s wrong, man?” Worry felt like a fist in Dean’s chest. Had Cas eaten bad food, or had something worse happened? “How can I help? What do you need?”

“Water from...loft,” Castiel gulped out. “Please.”

Sammy sprinted off to retrieve that bucket, and when he returned, with the pail and dipper, Castiel drank a sip, and then drank deeply.

“Is that better?” Dean asked anxiously.

The other boy moved sideways, to sit unassisted on the grass, and Dean withdrew. Fear still clawed at his gut, for Cas still looked pale, his eyes dull, and knees drawn to his chest in clear pain.

“Just...wait,” Castiel whispered.

They waited in silence, until a high pitched squeal rent the air.

Castiel opened his eyes. They looked clearer now. “The pigs.” He struggled to his feet. Bewildered, Dean offered his arm to help out. But Castiel staggered on his own power into the barn. His dinner plate lay in the pig pen, licked clean, and the biggest, fattest pig lay on its side, squealing as if someone had stuck it with a hot poker.

“ _Henry._ ” Cas slipped inside the pen, and Dean followed, not sure what else he should do. Castiel fell to his knees beside the pig. “Quick. Bring the water. The _new_ pail,” he gritted, the words an obvious effort. Henry’s agonized screeches achieved a deafening decibel. When Sam arrived, Cas said, “Dean. Help me. Open his mouth.”

Dean didn’t want his fingers anywhere near the pig’s yellow teeth or foaming mouth, but Castiel must have a reason for his request, so he pulled up on the pig’s jaw, and Castiel pulled down.

“Pour in the water,” Castiel told Sammy, who complied, splashing dipperfuls into the swine’s mouth. Most streamed onto the barn floor. The pig struggled free and screamed louder. He fell onto the filthy dirt and writhed in pain. Cas looked agonized and horrorstruck. “Henry!”

“Come on, Cas,” Dean urged gently. “You’ve done all you can. Let’s get out of here.” After a long hesitation, Castiel followed him out of the pigpen.

Sam brought the bucket back out, too, and Castiel drank another dipperful. His face looked like death, and he dropped to his knees outside the pigpen. Dean put a hand on his shoulder, wanting to comfort him, but not knowing how. Tremors shook Cas’s body, and finally, livid fury rocketed through Dean.

Simple deduction made the facts clear. Cas and the pigs had eaten the same food. Bad food. From the glimpse he’d seen earlier, it appeared the plate had been filled with leftovers from the Rowley’s dinner tonight. However, his gut told him this was not the case. He’d only be proven wrong if the Rowleys were writhing on the floor in their house, too. Again, he didn’t think so.

“The Rowleys poisoned you.”

Castiel’s mouth fell open in clear shock. “No.” He swallowed, and slowly climbed to his feet. “It happens every Midsummer’s Eve. Remember? I told you. I always get sick.”

“And it’s just a _coincidence_ the pig went belly up as soon as he ate your food.” Dean couldn’t help his sarcastic tone.

Castiel closed his eyes as the pig’s agonized screams pierced their eardrums. “ _Henry._ ”

Dean grabbed Cas by the arm and hauled him out of the barn. “It’s a damn _pig,_ Cas.”

Castiel seemed more upset about the suffering—and possibly dying—pig than about his own life. As if Cas was worth less than the filthy swine! It torqued something so tight in Dean that he felt the violent urge to explode and hunt down the Rowleys.

Castiel leaned against the barn, breathing heavily.

“You say this happens every _time_?” Dean demanded. “Every Midsummer’s Eve?”

“Yes. This year is the worst.”

Sam piped up, “Why did you want the water from the loft? Why did you give it to Henry?”

“Rowley kicked over that first bucket earlier this afternoon. He refilled it himself.” Castiel drew a breath, as if trying to steady his voice. “It didn’t taste right.”

“You think he poisoned it?” Dean’s rage ratcheted up another notch.

“No. But the bucket from the loft...I filled it myself this morning. I knew it was good.”

None of this was making any sense to Dean. “What’s with the water, Cas? Ana’s parents pay a lot of money for it.” Another memory resurfaced. “And after I hurt my ankle, you insisted I drink it. Why?”

“I wasn’t sure...and then...things clicked, after we spoke to Ana. After your injuries healed so fast.” Cas drew a deep breath and finally, fully, opened his eyes. They looked clear again, and his fist, which clutched the shirt fabric at his midriff, relaxed a little. “It heals, Dean. The well water heals people.”


	8. Chapter 8

Dean turned to stare at the well. Dumbfounded amazement crossed his features. “You’re sure?”

Castiel knew it sounded crazy. “It fits all the facts. And I thought if I drank it, it might heal me now.”

“Are you feeling better?” Dean’s voice sounded rough with concern.

“The pain is subsiding.” In the barn, Henry still squealed in agony. Castiel wanted to put his fingers in his ears, but that wouldn’t take away Henry’s pain. “Henry...”

“Forget about Henry!” Dean exploded. “Damn it, Cas. The Rowleys poisoned _you_. They poison you every Midsummer’s Eve. _Why_?”

“You must be wrong. They need me to work. Why would they try to hurt me?”

The squeals in the barn abruptly stopped. The brown haired boy who had come with Dean ran into the barn, and then quickly returned. “His chest is moving. He’s not dead.”

“Knocked out. Does that happen to you, too, Cas?”

“Yes. I usually fall asleep. It’s a blessing, to escape from the pain.”

“Man, this is rich. I’m gonna give those Rowleys a piece of mind. And I’ll get some answers, too.” Dean yanked up his pant leg, pulled the knife from the strap at his ankle, and strode down the hill for the Rowley’s hut. The wicked blade flashed silver in the afternoon sun.

“Dean, no!” Castiel stumbled after him, and the kid with the floppy brown hair and gangly arms and legs ran after Dean, looking like a deer fawn, still getting used to his new, lengthening limbs.

“Stay back, Sam. You too, Cas,” Dean barked.

Sam. He was Dean’s brother. “Dean, stop.”

He didn’t listen. Within moments, he pounded hard on the Rowley’s front door. “Open up, you crazy _sons of bitches!_ ”

The door opened, and Echna peered out, her straggling gray hair hanging limply over her shapeless dress. Her eyes widened a bit when she saw Castiel, but she scowled at Dean. “Get off our property.”

“You poisoned Cas, you bitch. Tell me why.”

She cackled, and old man Rowley appeared behind her. A scowl deepened the craggy lines of his face. Both looked older than time...and yet they never seemed to change. “Castiel is fine, as you can see. Go home. You’re not welcome on our property.”

“He was in agony a few minutes ago. Looking like he’d die. Now your pig’s gotten ahold of the food. _He_ doesn’t look so hot now.”

Echna gasped, and clapped a hand to her mouth. Both Rowleys flew out the door, and up the hill to the barn.

Mouth agape, Dean scowled after them.

“You must be wrong, Dean,” Castiel attempted again. “Why would they try to hurt me?”

Dean ignored him, and shouldered his way inside the empty house. “Help me out, Sam. We’re looking for charms, spells. Anything unusual. Anything hidden. You take the back part of the house.” He glanced up at the rafters. “I’ll take the attic. Cas, check the kitchen for poisonous herbs.” He disappeared up the ladder to the loft above.

Sam immediately pulled open cupboards and drawers, as if knowing what he was doing. Castiel moved into the kitchen, but found nothing but benign herbs hanging from the ceiling, and ordinary food on the larder shelves.

A whistle came from above, and Dean thunked down the ladder, carrying a medium-sized wooden chest, which fit comfortably in his arms. It was made of dark wood, and it sparkled with tiny pinpoints of light. He set it on the table. “Come take a look at this, Cas.”

Castiel moved closer, his shoulder touching Dean’s in the cramped space. His friend lifted the lid. A soft blue blanket lay inside. And a ripped piece of parchment, with beautiful, looped penmanship rested on top of it.

Dean read out loud,

_Take care of Castiel,_

_and he will take care of you._

_Midnight Midsum..._

The jagged edge indicated the parchment had been ripped in two.

Dean turned the parchment over, but it was blank. Then he searched the chest, but did not find the other half of the paper. “I’ll bet the Rowleys found you in this chest.”

“What does “Midnight Midsum...’ mean?” Sam asked.

Castiel had been wondering the same thing. Tentatively, he reached out and touched the blue fabric. It felt soft, like baby down, beneath his work calloused fingertips. It sparkled and felt warm, and a faint tune slipped through his head. A thread of the sad melody that wove through many of his dreams. This trunk and blanket had belonged to him. To his mother. He felt sure of it.

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “Maybe it’s a note from Cas’s mother. Maybe she left him here at midnight on Midsummer’s Eve.”

“So maybe my birthday _is_ on Midsummer’s Eve,” Castiel said, with wonder.

“I’d bet on it,” Dean agreed. His fingers touched the soft blanket, and he glanced at Cas. “Weird. Thinking of you so small.” And abandoned. He didn’t say it, but a flash of dark compassion said it all.

Castiel bit his lip. The trunk should mean nothing to him. He had clearly meant little to his mother, for she’d abandoned him on the Rowley’s doorstep. She’d entrusted complete strangers to care for her child. And while Castiel was grateful for having a home and food to eat, he wasn’t happy.

This was the first time he’d admitted that truth to himself. He wasn’t happy at all, and it took Dean’s arrival to show him how much he was missing. For the first time in his life, he’d experienced true kindness, and it was from a complete stranger. For the first time, he felt valued, just for being himself. He’d never felt valuable before Dean came, and now a cavernous thirst ached in his soul. He longed for more. Much more than he’d ever have.

He bit his lip. “Put it back. And we should leave. I don’t want the Rowleys...”

The dark look Dean shot him simmered with anger and understanding. But he shut the chest and carried it back upstairs. When he returned, Sam put a small object in Dean’s palm. It looked like a brown nut.

Dean rolled it in his fingers. One side looked flat and rough, as if someone had grated part of it away.

Castiel finally recognized the dark brown root. “Arnot. I’m not sure what it’s used for.”

“Look, over there. A cellar.” Sam pointed to a trap door imbedded in the wooden floor.

Dean tucked the knotty root into his pocket, and glanced out the open front door. He hesitated, clearly wanting to search the cellar, too, but Castiel saw movement on the hill. Dean must have seen it too, for he said, “Let’s go. I don’t want to make more trouble for Cas. Come on.”

Dean headed out the back door, and the others followed. Then Castiel took over, for he knew this farm like the back of his hand. He didn’t want the Rowleys to see them, or to suspect they’d searched their house. He headed down toward the shop, and then into the village. His stomach, thankfully, felt much better, and his head felt clear. Thanks to the water. The healing water.

The idea that he’d been pumping healing water all these years without realizing it amazed him. How little he knew. _Sheltered_ wasn’t a strong enough term. Perhaps ignorant would be more accurate. Or _stupid_. He ignored the fact that the Rowleys had kept him sequestered on the farm, and that this was only his fifth trip into the village in his entire life.

Unable to control his negative thoughts, Castiel thought about his mother, who had left him at the Rowley’s farm in that trunk. She had clearly deserted him, which meant he’d meant little to her. Or else she was dead. Really, he should feel grateful that the Rowleys—unpleasant as they could be—had taken him in.

The Rowleys. He couldn’t believe they had just purposefully poisoned him. And yet it must be true, for the food had sickened Henry, too. _Why_ would they do such a thing? And why every Midsummer’s Eve?

In town, Dean dug the root out of his pocket. “Would someone here know about this arnot root?”

With a nod, Castiel headed for the apothecary shop, hoping it was still open. Meanwhile, Sam’s wide eyes took in the village. Castiel tried to look at the town through the eyes of a stranger. Wooden timbers outlined doors and windows, and thatch covered the roofs. It must be nearly time for the evening meal, for few people walked the streets.

“It looks like a medieval village,” Sam said. “What’s its name, Cas?”

“Delphoi.”

“Greek,” Dean muttered. His eyes narrowed, and he surveyed the village more closely, but he said nothing else.

The owner of the apothecary shop, a short, balding man, stood outside the store, locking the door.

“Excuse me,” Castiel said politely. “But do you know the purpose of arnot root?” He indicated the brown root in Dean’s hand.

The man frowned, but took the object and turned it in his fist. He handed it back. “Arnot is used for sleeping potions.”

“Can it make someone sick?” Dean asked.

“Oh my, yes. If enough is given. Probably stomach cramps, too.”

“Can it kill someone?” Dean ruthlessly pressed.

“Yes. Definitely. From the look of that root, a quarter is gone. That would be enough to incapacitate a horse for a day or two.” The man stepped back, as if impatient to be on his way.

“Thank you,” Castiel told him.

Dean rolled the arnot knot in his fingers. “Enough to take out a horse.” He glanced at Castiel. “You don’t look like a horse to me, Cas.”

Castiel didn’t know what to think. “But why would they deliberately hurt me, Dean?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? And why every Midsummer’s Eve?” Dean stared at the root.

“Castiel!” Ana’s cheery voice made Dean visibly jump. “Hi, Dean.” With a giggle, her pale, sea blue eyes turned to Sam. “Who are you? I’m Anastasia. But you can call me Ana.”

Sam looked uncomfortable, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hey.”

“Doesn’t anyone ever watch you, kid?” Dean’s smile softened his brusque words. “You know it’s not safe to talk to strangers, right?”

Castiel’s eyes widened, feeling both concerned and bewildered by this idea, but Ana just shrugged. “I only trust you because you’re with Castiel.” With a big smile, she turned to Sam and tugged at his wrist, which was still partially ensconced in his pocket. “Want to swing? Come on. You can push me first.”

Sam looked up at the sky with a frown that looked half annoyed, and half something that Castiel couldn’t name. “You’re kind of pushy. ...Anastasia.”

Ana immediately dropped her hand and scowled. “ _You_ are a stick in the mud. Bet I can swing higher than you.”

“ _Gotcha_ ,” Dean said under his breath, and then in an aside to Castiel, “He can’t resist a dare.”

“I _can,_ Dean,” Sam said. But to Ana he muttered, “Fine. But you’ll eat your words. ...Anastasia.”

Another frown flickered across her features, but it warred with her triumphant little grin. She took off running. “Race you!”

Sam did not run. He sauntered, Castiel noted with amusement, while Dean teased him about being a pushover, and Sam punched him in the arm.

The sun dipped closer to the treetops as Sam grudgingly pushed Ana in the swing. Castiel and Dean found a bench that overlooked the swiftly flowing river. The rushing, swishing, boiling current occasionally splashed high off of a boulder, and the spray misted Castiel’s cheek. It felt cool and refreshing. The sound of the river filled his ears and rushed through his soul like a wild, untamed melody. As if he was one with the current...with the water.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice pulled him—with a startled twitch of his shoulders—back into the present.

Dean held a black bag on his knees. Castiel had noticed it earlier, but hadn’t given it much thought, because he’d been feeling so ill.

“I have something for you.” His friend shrugged, as if embarrassed, or perhaps not sure about Castiel’s reaction. “It’s nothing, really. Found them cheap at the library book sale. Sammy told me about it. Oh, hel...” He stopped talking, and pulled several blocky objects from the pack. “Books. See? Nothing special.”

Castiel had seen a few books before, but nothing like these. The covers looked shiny, and edges worn. “For me?” he said in complete wonder, barely daring to believe it. “You brought _books_ for me?”

“Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat. “You’re learning to read, and I thought, well, maybe these could give you some practice.”

“Books.” Castiel tentatively reached for the first one.

“That’s a dictionary,” Dean said, looking embarrassed. “You won’t want to read it, but it has all the words in the world in it. If you need to know what a word means, you can look it up. Look, it goes in alphabetical order, from a to z. And it shows you how to sound out words, too.”

Castiel reverently touched the cover, and carefully opened it. Many words, written in small print, covered each page. His put his finger on a word at random. “Hur’ ee. Hurry.”

“And here’s the first Lord of the Rings book.” Castiel took that one, too, and touched the dark cover. “It’s a story. There are three other books in the trilogy. The Hobbit is first, before all of them, but I thought you might like this one better. And last...” Now Dean did hesitate before extending to Castiel a black book with gold-edged pages. “It’s a Bible. It’s a religious book, and tells about God. I thought...somehow...you might be interested in something like this.”

“I am,” Castiel said with reverence, and carefully opened the book. The page was covered in hundreds of words. Words he could not read, but that he vowed to learn. And Dean had given him the tools to do so. He felt overwhelmed with gratitude, and moisture filled his eyes. He blinked it back. “Thank you, Dean. _Thank you._ ”

“It’s nothin.’” Dean shrugged again and looked away. “They didn’t cost much. I just thought...”

“They’re perfect. I’ve never received a better gift in my life.” In fact, he’d never received any gifts at all, besides food and clothing. “I will read every word. When you return next summer, I’ll know how to read.”

“Yeah.” Dean rubbed his brow. “I’m sure you’ll know every word within a week or two. Hope you enjoy them, Cas.”

“I will,” He said fervently. And then a thought crossed his mind. “I have nothing for you. It’s your birthday, too.”

“You’ve probably never received a gift in your life, have you?” Dean said with a rueful twinkle in his eyes. “I have everything I need. I don’t need a gift. Just seeing you enjoy those books...that’s enough for me.”

“Wait! I do have something to give you. But it’s back at the barn.”

“Really, Cas...”

“Please, Dean. Let me give you something in return. When dusk falls, and you have to head home, I’ll run to the barn and get it. Okay?” Castiel felt anxious that Dean agree.

“Okay. If it means so much to you.”

“It does,” Castiel said with relief.

Sam and Ana’s bickering voices reached their ears, and Dean looked over his shoulder. “Looks like the kids are ready to head home.”

“And the sun will set soon.” This fact made Castiel’s heart feel heavy with dread. In fact, it ached, and so did a lump in his throat.

“Sam! Ana,” Dean called, rising to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Ana pranced ahead of them into the village. She said goodbye nicely to Castiel and Dean, but stuck her tongue out at Sam. “You cheated,” she informed him, and ran off.

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn’t elaborate.

Unhappiness roiled in Castiel’s heart as they headed, under cover of the woods northwest of town, toward the farm. He didn’t want Dean...or Sam...to leave so soon. Well, ever, if he was honest. He didn’t want to be alone again. And he was afraid of the Rowleys. It seemed clear they had tried to poison him. Or perhaps they had tried to make him fall asleep, since the apothecary shop owner had said arnot root was used for sleeping potions. But why? Why on Midsummer’s Eve?

Would they try it again? Could he ever safely return home?

Dean walked silently by his side for quite some time. Finally, he said in a rough voice, “The Rowleys poison you every Midsummer’s Eve.”

“Perhaps they want me to sleep through it.”

“Yeah. That’s giving them the benefit of the doubt. The fact is, you’re not safe on the farm tonight. Not on _any_ Midsummer’s Eve.”

“I know.”

“Stay in the forest tonight. Stay clear of the farm.”

“I will. But I’m not sure I’ll be safe tomorrow, either.”

“How often do they hurt you, Cas? How often do they beat you?”

“Not often. The last time was when I was seven. I defied them.”

“And you only get sick once a year, right?”

“Yes.”

“I hope I’m right, but I think Midsummer’s Eve is the only day you’re in danger. The only day all year.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know. We need to search that cellar. Get more information. I have a feeling there’s a shi...load of stuff going on we know nothing about. So promise me, Cas. You’ll stay clear of the barn tonight.”

“I will. Excerpt for getting your present.”

“No. Cas...”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel set his jaw in a mulish line.

After a glance at him, Dean fell silent. “I don’t like it.”

Castiel did not reply. A few minutes later, he figured they were abreast of the barn, and they slipped through the trees for a better look. The Rowleys appeared to be building a big bonfire just south of the well. He’d seen the scorch marks during previous years, and had asked about it, but the Rowleys refused to answer, and never gave him dinner after he asked. Finally, he’d stopped asking the question.

“Looks like that witch is about to hop on her broom and fly,” Dean muttered.

Echna scuttled back and forth, laying logs on the fire. Rowley arranged fireworks around the bonfire’s perimeter.

“What are they doing?” Sam muttered, peering around a tree for a better look.

Dean shook his head. “Some crazy ass shi... They’re nuts,” he said with certainty.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Castiel handed his books back to Dean.

“Cas...”

Castiel ignored Dean, and loped north through the woods, leaving his friends behind. He looped north of the field, and then backtracked, keeping hidden first behind the abandoned shack, and then he sprinted, bent low, to the far end of the barn. He slipped inside, grabbed his gift for Dean, and hurried back the way he’d come. Dusk was beginning to settle like a heavy blanket over the landscape by the time he returned to Dean and Sam.

“I know you have to go now, Dean.” Castiel accepted back his new books.

“I almost forgot.” Dean pulled the shirt he’d borrowed from Castiel out of his pack and handed it to him. “Thanks.”

The shirt felt softer in Castiel’s work roughened fingers than when he’d first given it to his friend. And it smelled fresh and clean, with a faint, pleasant scent he couldn’t identify, but which smelled like Dean.

“Thank you. Here.” With a hesitant smile, he extended his gift and lay the flat, white piece of bark in Dean’s hand. It was the drawing he’d made of Dean at the fire pit the other evening. Thankfully, enough daylight remained to illuminated the images.

Dean looked at Castiel’s drawing for a long moment. He said nothing. Then he cleared his throat, but still didn’t speak. Dismay shot painful arrows into Castiel’s still aching stomach.

Sam tweaked the drawing toward him, so he could see better. “This is _great,_ Cas.” Awe warmed the younger boy’s voice.

Dean cleared his throat again. “Yeah. It’s excellent. Thank you, Cas.” Something in Dean’s gaze, which finally met his, made Castiel realize the gift had touched Dean’s heart.

Reassured, he smiled. “I’m glad you like it,” he said shyly.

Dean licked his lips. “Yeah. Well. Guess this is it, then.” A stiff breeze suddenly stirred up, swirling the leaves around them.

Castiel nodded, but said nothing. Words ached in his throat, but he didn’t trust himself to speak. He hoped Dean would return next year, but he wouldn’t make his friend promise. A lot could change in a year.

“Cas.” Dean’s rough voice interrupted his thoughts. His friend’s gaze looked shadowed by the trees, and by the night closing in around them. “I’ll be back next year. On our birthday. At the fire pit. Sound good?”

Castiel nodded. Hope leant wings to his spirit. “Yes, Dean,” he said gravely. “I’ll be there. In the evening.”

“June twentieth.”

Castiel nodded. He’d keep careful track of the days. Several shops in the village had calendars, too, so he didn’t need to worry.

Dean glanced toward the farm, through the trees, where a bonfire now blazed skyward, flickering wildly in the strengthening breeze. “Be careful.”

“If I think I’m in danger, I will leave.” Leaving the farm had never seriously crossed his mind before. But now Castiel knew it may be his only choice. He would not allow the Rowleys to hurt or poison him again.

Dean cleared his throat again. “Okay, then. Guess we’ll see ya.”

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel said. “’Bye, Sam. It was nice to meet you.”

“You too, Cas.” Sam’s wide smile looked happy and sincere, as if he really liked Cas, too.

Dean touched two fingers to his temple and flicked them out in a salute. “Catch you on the flip side, Cas.”

“Flip side,” Cas agreed, although he still didn’t know what that meant. Or maybe he did. His world had flipped upside down and backwards since meeting Dean. He had a feeling it would never be righted again. Unhappiness ached like a hole in his chest when his two friends disappeared from sight.

*****

Castiel stayed in the woods as dusk deepened into darkness, and the moon edged higher over the trees. He wondered what the Rowleys planned to do with the bonfire.

Cold soon seeped into his bones, and he wished he’d thought to retrieve his blanket from the loft. Castiel remembered the extra shirt Dean had returned to him, and so he pulled it on, and took comfort from Dean’s familiar smell.

When it neared midnight, Echna’s body began to sway, and then she leaped into a hopping, skipping dance around the bonfire, her black skirts twirling, and arms flailing into the night sky.

Giant gusts of wind swirled the flames upward, so high they almost seemed to touch the heavens. Ty Rowley hurled small packets into the night sky. Hungry flames gobbled them up, and brilliant red flashes exploded far above the earth. Tongues of fire scorched the cool blue night sky.

At midnight, when the large silver moon hung overhead, the sky turned an ethereal blue, edged by green, and Echna erupted into gibbering, screeching chants. She gyrated like a mad woman. Rowley hurled bundle after bundle of fireworks skyward. The earth beneath Castiel’s feet shook from the explosions.

Cold and hot prickles danced across Castiel’s skin. Starlight and fire burned the air he breathed. Overhead, the night sky shimmered and sparkled, as if a curtain of cool mist wanted to descend upon the earth, but the bonfire and explosions battled its descent. In the moonlight, mist swirled with the fire.

Midnight waned, and the burning explosions bled the sky white; as if searing all of the tears dry in heaven. It reminded Castiel of his dreams; which sometimes felt so real, and yet were woven and knit together like cloud-like fantasies; existing on a plane he couldn’t quite touch.

Only when the sky turned black again did the Rowleys stop their strange, frantic activities. Still hidden among the trees, Castiel watched them throw water on the fire, and then they muttered together and headed down the hill to their house.

What had they been doing? Clearly, they hadn’t wanted Castiel to witness their madcap performance. After all, thanks to the sleeping potion, he’d never witnessed one before. He’d always been asleep, with his stomach knotted in agony.

Anger stirred as he headed for the barn to fetch his blanket, so he could camp near the fire pit overnight. The Rowleys thought nothing of hurting him, or starving him. Until Dean had come along, Castiel hadn’t thought much about it. He hadn’t liked it, but he’d accepted it, for it was the only life he’d known. Now he knew the Rowleys weren’t nice people. They hurt him on purpose. They were mean.

Castiel didn’t want to return to the farm. He wished he could run away right now. But where would he go? Emotion ached in his throat, but he swallowed it back. He knew nothing of the real world, or its pitfalls or its people. He only knew Dean. He only trusted Dean. So for now, he’d hang on, and try to think of a new path for his life. It was time for a change.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next 3 chapters are Cas’s, and it’s the longest segment when he and Dean are apart. However, it’s necessary, so hang on, it’s worth it, I promise...

Year 2016

 

Summer bled into fall, which dried up into a cold, harsh winter. Plumes of foul smelling smoke spiraled from the Rowley’s chimney every day after October 31st. That was new, and Castiel wondered about it. Although he couldn’t place the smells, they reminded him of burnt metal, and dead, rotting things. He didn’t ask questions.

Castiel still cared for the animals and pumped water, but the last plants in the vegetable garden died in November. The Rowleys ignored him, besides giving him new orders each morning, but they did feed him poison-free food, and Castiel visited the village once a week to purchase items for the Rowleys.

While the Rowleys gave him money to pay for the items, it frustrated Castiel that he didn’t understand the amount of change he should receive. Knowing how to count wasn’t enough, not when dealing with different coins, worth different amounts of money. Echna cuffed him on the head when he brought home the wrong change, and called him all sorts of an imbecile. He received no food on those days.

Anger and frustration grew within him as November turned into December. Constant gray clouds and snow threatened, which matched his mood. Castiel didn’t know how to win with the Rowleys. They seemed to take great delight in setting him up to fail, and then making him feel like a fool.

Castiel wished he could leave the farm. But he’d need money, or a job in the village to do so. Neither of which he possessed. The Rowleys certainly did not pay him. And shops in the village only hired lads who were seventeen or older. Besides that, Castiel only possessed farming skills. Even worse, if he tried (and failed) to get a job, the news would get back to the Rowleys. A chill snaked down his spine at that thought. No, for now his fate remained with the Rowleys.

The one bright spot in Castiel’s life were the books Dean had given him. He taught himself how to read. It didn’t take long. The words seemed to absorb into his brain like rain into the freshly plowed, eager earth. Castiel enjoyed the Bible the most, with its stories and psalms and parables. Sometimes, he prayed. He didn’t feel so alone, then. In fact, the more he learned about a God who loved him, the more joy and certainty settled in his heart. Dean had taught him, just by his friendship, that Castiel was a valuable person. A person of worth. And now he learned that God felt the same way. It gave him hope for his future, although he saw no way to escape the Rowley’s farm just yet.

He also very much enjoyed the Lord of the Rings book. Frodo’s adventurous journey kindled an appetite in him to expand his boundaries and to have adventures. Maybe that day would come. Perhaps when Dean returned. If he returned.

As the months passed, Castiel tried his best not to think about Dean too much, but on the worst days, when his stomach hurt with hunger and he felt a desperate ache of loneliness in his heart, he remembered Dean’s warm smile, his fun spirit, and his fierce protectiveness when the Rowleys had poisoned him. Although Cas had never had a friend in his life, he knew in his heart that Dean was the best friend one could ever hope to have.

*****

In late December, Castiel headed to Delphoi for the weekly shopping trip, carrying a sack, and a pocket full of tetartemorion coins. He needed to buy meat from the butcher, which made his stomach hurt with worry. Mr. Mortien always gave him the wrong amount of change.

“’s almost Crithmus!” Ana appeared by Castiel’s side, her wide smile displaying two missing front teeth. Castiel didn’t see the child very often, but every time they crossed paths, Ana ran up to him as if they were the best of friends, and as if no time had passed at all. “What do you do for Crith’mus, Casth?”

Castiel couldn’t help but smile, for the little girl looked cute with her rosy cheeks and bright, sparkling eyes, and her white, fluffy coat. She made Castiel feel like he was someone worth knowing, and that warmed a bit of the lonely spaces in his heart. “The Rowleys don’t celebrate Christmas,” he explained gently.

Ana’s eyes opened very, very wide. “But thatsth horrible! How do you get presthents?”

“I don’t need presents. Grown ups don’t need presents.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not a grown up.”

Castiel didn’t answer. Ana followed him into the butcher’s shop, where he placed his order to the burly, balding man at the counter. Mr. Mortien slapped meat on a table and hacked at with an axe. Blood flew from the blade. Ana watched with clear fascination.

“Grossth,” she said, but didn’t stop looking.

Mr. Mortien wrapped the bloody hunk in brown paper and slapped it on the counter. “Three hemitetartemorions.”

With a sinking feeling Castiel pulled a small handful of tetartemorions from his pocket. Why didn’t the Rowleys give him hemitetartemorions? Those coins were worth less than the tetartemorions he carried. When he hesitated, Mr. Mortien grinned, and Castiel wondered if the butcher was looking forward to cheating him again. Frustration tightened his lips as he handed the shop keeper two tetartemorions.

Mr. Mortien nodded, and placed the money in his pocket. “Good day.”

Castiel stared at the man. The sick feeling in his gut twisted, increasing his frustration. Something wasn’t right.

“Give him histh change,” Ana piped up, staring at the huge butcher. A scowl knit her brows together.

He laughed. “Run home, little Ana...”

“You owe him a hemitetartemorion.” She turned to Castiel. “Right, Cas?”

Castiel trusted Ana over the butcher, although it felt wrong that a little child knew more about money than he did. Cas squared his shoulders and looked the butcher in the eyes. “That’s right. My change, please, Mr. Mortien.”

The butcher frowned, but tossed a small coin at Castiel. “Go on with you.” He turned to the next customer in line.

Out in the snow packed street, more snow drifted down. Ana said, “Mama saysth Mr. Mortien’s a cheat. You knew that’s what he wasth doing, right, Cas?” Her gaze looked troubled.

Castiel swallowed, but shook his head. “I don’t know how to figure out change. But I do know how to count to a trillion.”

Ana laughed in delight. “You’re sthmart. But you need to learn math. I don’t know near enough. But I know someone who doesth.” She grabbed his hand. “Come with me.”

She led him toward the path that wound through the river park. Tall, stark trees stretched their bare arms skyward, as if supplicating for the sun. Instead, snow drifted down.

Ana stuck her tongue out, trying to catch a light, fluffy flake. Before long, she let go of Castiel’s hand and skipped ahead, chasing snowflakes. They reached the river, and turned left, heading toward the large bridge ahead. The river flowed, looking like silky, frosty blue ice as it slid over the submerged boulders. It was cold today, and Cas burrowed deeper into his brown jacket, and tucked his free hand in his pocket.

Ana twirled back, sparkling with happiness. “Thisth is the best day ever, Casth! I love snow, don’t you?” Castiel didn’t have time to answer, for she chattered on, “I hope it snowsth on my birthday. I wish my real mommy would come this year. But she can’t.”

Taken aback, Castiel said slowly, “Your real mommy?”

“Yes. My real mommy visitsth me on my birthday.”

Castiel wondered what Ana could possibly mean. He redirected the conversation. “When is your birthday?”

“December 21. The Winter Solsthice. My other mommy doesn’t know my real mommy comes, though.”

“She doesn’t?”

“I always wake up in the night, in the last hour of my birthday. Just before midnight. My real mommy sits on my bed. She always looks sad when I first open my eyes. Then she sthmiles.” Ana’s smile looked as bright as sunshine. “Her hair sparklesth like moonbeams, and she wears a beautiful, light blue gown. Sparklesth dance all over it. She says it’s star dust.”

Castiel wondered if Ana had dreamed about the sparkling woman. He knew children had vivid imaginations, since he’d once had one, too. He still did, if he was honest. However, he didn’t want to discourage Ana, because her fantasy clearly made her so happy. “How many times has she visited you?”

“I remember her first when I was four. And then five, and she came last year, when I turned sthix. She said she can’t come this year. I don’t know why, but she said she’d come again next year.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say. He didn’t see how Ana’s story could be true, but he didn’t want to upset her, either. So he changed the subject. “Where are we going?”

“Here!” Ana hopped down the rocks to the flat, rocky beach, and headed toward the dark bridge, which loomed up ahead.

By the confident way Ana scampered, it was clear she had visited before. Did Ana’s parents allow her to wander, unsupervised, near the dangerous river and the dark bridge? Not for the first time, Castiel felt the same unease Dean had mentioned, when he’d told Ana it was dangerous to talk to strangers. “Have you been here before? On your own?”

“Oh sure,” she said airily, over her small shoulder. “James isth my friend. So are Hazel and the others. _Jaa...aamesth!_ ”

Ana slipped into the darkness beneath the high, looming bridge. Castiel’s brow furrowed deeper in worry as he followed close on her heels. He spotted a lean-to, covered with an old blanket, and then other small dwellings clustered under the wide bridge. It looked like a camp of some sort, and in the center a small fire burned. An old woman with a gray kerchief knotted up around her head nodded at Ana, and an old man with white hair and a beard straightened. His clothes looked clean, but tattered.

“Ana. What are you doing here? A storm’s a’comin’.”

“Jamesth, this is Cas. He needs to learn math. And how to use money. He’s my friend. Will you teach him?”

Eyes the color of a stormy sky peered at Cas, and Castiel got the feeling that gaze had witnessed things that most in this world would never see.  “Cas, eh?”

“Castiel, sir.”

“No sirs here. I’m James. Glad to make your acquaintance. This...” his wave indicated the little community, “is home. But we’re homeless. Quite a conundrum, don’t you think?”

“Jamesth used to be a professthor. At a big school. Right, Jamesth?”

James smiled, but a blank look flashed in his eyes. “If you say so, Ana.” To Castiel, “My memory is sketchy. It comes and goes. But I do know numbers. My very favorite subject. What do you need to know?”

“Everything,” Castiel said frankly. “I only know how to count.”

James nodded at the thick snowflakes floating down beyond the bridge. “If you can count those, we have a good start. Come back any day. I’ll teach you what I know...well, what I can remember.”

“Thank you.” Castiel felt grateful, and amazed that a complete stranger would want to help him. And it was all thanks to Ana. “I will return another time.”

James nodded and peered out again. “Looks like a small break in the clouds. Best hurry on, now.”

But first, Ana ran and hugged James and the woman at the fire, and then waved to a few others who had popped their heads out of their shelters. Castiel said a final thank you, and walked the child home. On her doorstep, he told her gravely, “Thank you, Ana.”

She smiled. “I think I’m your guardian angel. But still, guardian angels like to be pushed in the swing.”

“Next time.” He smiled. “When it’s not snowing.”

Ana tugged at his hand and motioned for him to stoop down. She gave his cheek a quick peck. “You’re the best, Castiel. See you soon!” With a backward wave, she skipped away.

Castiel touched his cheek, and was filled with a bit of bewildered wonder. No one had ever shown him affection before, except for the brief hug Dean had given him last summer. He didn’t understand why Ana, from the beginning, had seemed determined to befriend him. It made him feel happy, though, as if blessed by a grace he did not understand. As he walked toward home, he realized, for the first time, deep in his heart, that he did feel a connection to the little girl. One he couldn’t quite explain, except, perhaps...Ana’s description of her “real” mommy’s visits reminded him of his own dreams. Of stars, a gentle touch and sad lullabies. Perhaps at heart he was still a child, like Ana. Maybe the child recognized a kindred soul.

Feeling thankful for his growing circle of friends, Castiel walked through the swirling flakes to the farm and gave Echna the meat and the change. She swiftly, but not quickly enough, covered her disappointment when she received the correct change. “Dumb luck,” she told him, and shut the door in his face.

Unhappiness returned as the thickening snowflakes chased his steps to the barn. He probably wouldn’t get any supper tonight. Echna was annoyed with him.

Worse, Rowley waited for him in the barn. A scowl grooved deep into the lines of his face. “Eggs are missing.”

“I eat a few eggs when I’m hungry,” Castiel admitted quietly. Fear clenched in his gut. “I need food to work.”

The whip came out of nowhere and hit the side of Castiel’s neck. He cried out, and turned away, covering his head with his arms. Ty Rowley hit him again, and then the memory of Dean flashed through his mind. Dean had escaped from Rowley’s whip. Castiel didn’t need to be afraid, either. He was bigger than Rowley now, and probably stronger, too. Dean would not put up with this type of behavior, and he didn’t have to, either.

When the whip next wrapped painfully around his waist, Castiel grabbed it with both hands, spun on one foot to free himself, and then yanked hard on the whip, jerking it out of Ty’s hands.

The old man’s jaw dropped, and his eyes bugged out. “ _Give that back!_ ”

“ _No._ ” Castiel’s hands shook as he coiled up the whip. “If you want me to work, I need to eat. If you won’t feed me, I will take food where I can find it.” It was the second time in a year that he’d stood up to Rowley. The first time had been to protect Dean. This time was to protect himself.

Rowley’s mouth opened and closed, like a fish gasping in the open air. “Give it back, _boy,_ or you’ll be sorry!”

Outside, the wind picked up, making a door bang, and angry chickens squawk.

The old, childish terror slid through Castiel when Ty stepped toward him, palpable fury swirling around him like a dark shroud.

Castiel swallowed hard and flicked out the whip. “Stop!”

Rowley stopped. His face turned red, and hatred convulsed his features into deep, macabre lines. “Don’t you threaten me, _boy_.”

Keeping his voice as even and forceful as he could make it, Castiel said, “No. I will not work for you if you beat me. I will not work for you if you won’t feed me.”

Although he struggled to sound calm, he felt anything but. The whip lashes still stung his skin like fire, although his winter coat had helped to protect him a little. But his emotions felt splintered. Terrified. He tried his best to ignore them. He instinctually knew he must win this battle.

“Give back that whip!”

Castiel strode to the barn door and hurled the whip out into the thick, falling snow. With a snarl, Rowley ran out. Castiel slammed the door behind him, and slid the door bolt into place. Shaking, he ran to the other end of the barn and secured that door, too.

Outside, Rowley, screamed curses, and rattled the door. Castiel sat down hard on the packed earth, trembling hard. The cows looked at him with soft, sympathetic eyes. Even Henry stared at him, perhaps wondering when his next meal would arrive. Tears filled Cas’s eyes, but he scrubbed at them, refusing to cry.

Tears slipped out anyway. What had he done to deserve this? How could he continue to live here? Rowley had beaten him for stealing eggs. Echna berated him when he didn’t bring home the right change. Neither would feed him. He was always hungry.

It was too much. He was sick of starving. Sick of being afraid. _It was too much._

As he sat there, overwhelmed with pain, fear, and despair, a plan sprang to mind. A daring, bold plan. He could not live with the fear of being poisoned or beaten any longer. It had to stop. Although it scared him, he had to make sure the abuse stopped for good. Right now.

He stumbled to his feet, grabbed the sharp knife he used to clean chickens, slipped it in his pocket and unlatched the barn door.

Thick snow swirled in his face as he strode for the Rowley’s house. Warmth glowed in the window, lighting the way. Too bad no warmth lived in that house for him. Forever, he was delegated to the cold outdoors; an alien on the farm on which he’d grown up. A stranger with no real home. A person who was not wanted. Not by his real mother. Not by his adopted parents. Only his new friends seemed to like him. But as much as his friends meant a great deal to him, Dean was not here, and Ana was only a little girl. Cas was on his own. Always had been. Always would be. And so now he would make his stand for a slice of the life he deserved. That he _needed_ , in order to survive.

On the Rowley’s porch, he raised his fist to knock, but Echna’s querulous voice made him pause.

“Castiel is too strong. You must keep him under control!”

“He is under control. He will _always_ be under our control. Don’t worry. I have the situation well in hand.”

“He _defeated_ you, Ty!”

“Appearances mean nothing. This incident will work to our benefit.”

“How?” Echna sounded confused.

“Everything is going according to plan. It is our time. Finally. The boy brings in an endless supply of money. Soon we’ll achieve every plan we’ve worked for over the centuries.”

Centuries? The Rowleys were _centuries_ old?

Echna muttered something unintelligible.

“ _You_ keep your end of the bargain, Echna. Everything rests on _you_. You must succeed where everyone else has failed.”

“I know!”

Castiel wondered what in the world they were talking about. But the icy wind stung his cheeks now, and he suspected a blizzard would soon arrive. He made a fist with his freezing fingers and pounded hard on the door.

Echna swung open the door. A scowl contorted her wrinkled features, but before she could slam the door in his face, Cas shouldered his way inside the warm little house. A fire flickered behind the grate, and delicious smells wafted from the kitchen. His stomach growled loudly, reminding him of his painful, unending hunger.

Rowley scooped up the whip and strode toward him. “Get out, boy!”

Castiel didn’t move, and viciously fought the terror that threatened to overwhelm him. These two people had intimidated, starved, beaten and controlled his entire life. Nothing would change, unless he made a stand for himself right now. “I’m here to negotiate.”

Rowley’s face contorted into a sneer, and he spat on the floor. “Negotiate. Hah!”

“My labor brings in a lot of money,” Castiel said. “I work from dawn until dusk. I need food. Oxen cannot plow without food to eat. They become weak. It’s the same with me.”

Echna cackled to Rowley, “He’s comparing himself to an ox, Ty. Appropriate.”

Anger gripped him; an emotion so fierce he could barely contain it. “I earn my food, and my lodging. But you are not paying me what you owe. If you will not feed me three full meals a day, I will not work for you any longer.”

“Then leave the farm,” Echna said, with a dismissive little twirl of her wrist.

“I will.” Castiel had no other choice. Somehow, he would survive. He turned to go.

“Wait.” Rowley said sharply.

He turned to see Echna staring up at Rowley with an unreadable expression on her beakish face.

“No more stealing eggs,” Rowley snapped.

Castiel nodded.

Rowley looked at Echna, who gazed back at him. Castiel could not read their expressions, but something which looked like muted glee in Echna’s twisted lips made him feel uncomfortable. Rowley was more difficult to read, but Castiel definitely did not feel more at ease with his expression. He trusted neither of them, and after overhearing their earlier conversation, distrusted them more than ever before. They pursued some sort of hidden agenda he knew nothing about, and the money he helped bring in was helping them to achieve their ultimate goal...whatever that might be.

Clearly, his labor was the sole bargaining chip he could use to try to provide for his own needs.

Outside, the wind hit a higher, unearthly note. The blizzard had arrived.

Rowley nodded. “Three meals a day.”

“Every day.”

“Every day,” Rowley agreed, and glanced at Echna. “But you must complete all of your chores, every day.”

“I always do. And I need another blanket.” This last was a bold request, but Castiel couldn’t light a fire in the barn, and the temperatures would drop well below freezing tonight.

Rowley again looked at Echna, who shuffled away and pulled a quilt from the closet. It looked old and tattered, and had been made of blue and gray squares and triangles, interspersed with white pieces sprigged with tiny blue flowers. She shoved into in his arms, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Ty’s flat gaze continued to stare at Castiel. Unease slid through his gut, and Echna’s reappearance was welcome. She shoved a plate of food into his hands, and waved toward the door. “Go.”

Castiel swallowed. “Thank you.”

Neither of them replied, which increased his unease. They had complied with his demands, but something told him this wasn’t the end.

“Goodnight,” he told them, and let himself out into the strengthening storm. Snow stung his exposed skin, and the swirling flakes nearly obscured the dark outline of the barn. He plunged uphill, through the powdery, deepening snow, and once inside the barn, bolted the door to keep out the storm.

For the first time, he noticed the slop Rowley had left for the pigs, so Castiel fed them, and then milked the cows and left the buckets near the door to keep cool. Then he carried his provisions and the new blanket up to the loft. He dragged both blankets around him and tucked into the freshly baked bread, chicken meat and pickled vegetables. He saved most of the bread and an apple for the morning.

Cas pulled on his extra clothes and thought about his “victory” over the Rowleys. Would they continue to feed him? Would Ty try to attack him again? What plans were they trying to accomplish? What was Echna trying to do that no one had ever achieved before?

The Rowley’s goals could not be good.

Wrapping the blankets more tightly around himself, he curled up in the straw. Wind whipped the barn, making the timbers shake, and freezing cold breezes slid through cracks in the barn walls. He shuddered. A strange, unfamiliar note shrieked through the strengthening gale. One he’d never heard before. It screamed through his soul like a demon. Frightening, powerful, and overwhelming.

*****

The blizzard raged for two days, and Castiel was glad for the solid walls of the well-built barn. Although the building shuddered from the mighty gusts, it held strong. When Castiel finally emerged from the barn into uncanny silence on the third morning, glittering white snow sparkled beneath a cloudless blue sky. He resumed his normal duties, and Echna provided meals three times a day on his dinner plate on the back porch. Five days later, he journeyed to town to purchase the week’s supplies. He stopped in his tracks when he entered the village.

Devastation met his eyes. Broken rooftops and thatch littered the streets. Shattered windows allowed dark glimpses inside the homes and shops.

Quietly, he purchased supplies, and listened to people talk at the butcher’s shop. He remembered the correct change from last time, but it didn’t matter, for Mr. Mortien seemed distracted. He gossiped with a woman carrying a baby on her hip, and he didn’t try to short-change Castiel.

His horror grew as he learned what people in the village had endured over the last week. Besides blown off roofs and broken windows, several buildings had collapsed, killing the people inside.

“And the homeless camp at the bridge... Blown to smithereens,” the woman smirked, repositioning the baby on her hip.

Castiel drew a quick breath. When he left the butcher’s shop, he stood still for a moment, mind reeling from the information he’d learned. The Rowley’s farm had suffered no damage, which he now realized was a stroke of good fortune. The village, however—and James and Hazel who lived under the bridge—had not been so lucky. And what about Ana’s house?

He hurried down the street and turned the corner. Relief filled his heart. Ana’s house looked fine. Only the small shed beside it had collapsed sideways. Next, Castiel ran for the bridge. To his surprise, he discovered the camp looked just the same as it had before.

James greeted him with a wave. “Ana’s friend!”

Castiel remembered that James’ memory was not what it should be. “Castiel. I thought...I heard the storm destroyed your homes.”

“Yeah. But that’s the good thing about tents and lean-tos; they’re easy to rebuild. Castiel, is it? Come meet the others.” James clapped a hand on his shoulder, and introduced him to the dozen or more people living under the bridge, including an elderly woman who sat on a rock knitting hats, named Granny Wiggins, and her son, a slow moving man named Johnny, whose slack face lit up in a cautious smile. Each was wrapped up tight in jackets, scarves and blankets. Hazel coughed harshly, and several people lay quietly beside the fire.

“How can I help?” Castiel asked, concerned about the sick people.

“Thanks, son. But we have no money for medicine. We pray. That’s the best we can do.”

Castiel thought of something else that might help. But he said nothing, for fear he couldn’t deliver.

“Actually...Castiel, we could use help setting up a windbreak. The stones are heavy.” James indicated the large boulders a few men slowly rolled toward the sides of the encampment.

Castiel put down his sack of food and spent the next hour helping the homeless build walls underneath the bridge, one on each side, to help protect their community from the elements. After that, Hazel insisted on sharing a bowl of beans with him. They were delicious.

The next day, Castiel pumped two extra buckets of well water and, under cover of the trees and following the stream that fed into the mighty, rushing river, brought them to the homeless camp. His new friends received them with open-mouthed silence.

“We can’t pay you,” James told him.

Castiel shook his head. “I hope the water will heal your friends.”

The well water did heal their friends, and once a week after that, James taught Castiel everything he knew about math, and after that, astronomy, philosophy and a little mythology. James’s sketchy memory rarely impeded their lessons. Some days he remembered one subject, and on another day, a different subject. James was amazed at how quickly Castiel learned, and within several months, he told Castiel that he had drained dry his well of knowledge. Castiel knew everything he did.

Cas doubted that. Sometimes James went silent, looking troubled and lost in his own thoughts. His gut told him James harbored secrets he didn’t want to share with Castiel, or with anyone else. Cas asked him about it once in late February, when James went silent for an extended stretch, lost inside his mind. But James only blinked and shook his head. “Sometimes I see... No. Never mind.”

Still, Castiel enjoyed learning every scrap of information he could. Even better, making change with the butcher no longer posed a problem, and he was grateful. It gave him a feeling of confidence to be able to read, write and do math. He enjoyed thinking and debating philosophy and religious questions with James, too.

James stated twice that he believed Castiel was a genius. Dean had said the same. Castiel had looked up “genius” in his dictionary, but couldn’t believe such a thing could be true about him. Whether it was true or not, the title meant little to him. What he valued above all else were his new friends. They liked him, and treated him kindly, and Granny Wiggins even knit him a warm blue cap that warmed him on the coldest days. Castiel enjoyed every moment he could spend with his new friends. Sometimes, Ana spotted him passing by her house, and tagged along on his weekly visits—after he’d pushed her in the swing, of course.

Winter finally warmed into spring. Flowers bloomed, and peace settled in Castiel’s soul as he helped Ty plant new crops. He now had several good friends, and the Rowleys continued to feed him. And June would arrive soon. His heart skipped and lifted at the thought. He’d tried all year to think about Dean as little as possible, and to try to diminish the inexplicable ache of missing his best friend. But now he couldn’t stop thinking about their upcoming birthday. Soon he would see Dean.

He hoped.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for possible triggers; brief description of violence and abuse in this chapter.

In May, the Rowleys asked Castiel to pump ten extra buckets of water each day for the shop. Out of town strangers now regularly visited the Rowley’s shop, and carted away buckets of the healing well water. The strangers often bought provisions and spent the night in town, too, which were good for Delphoi and its residents. The black smoke curling out of Echna’s chimney stopped in May. Castiel wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was glad he didn’t have to smell that rotted, acrid smell any longer. The Rowleys continued to feed him three times a day, although the portion size grew smaller every month. He didn’t complain.

Echna tripled the price of water in May. Villagers grumbled that they couldn’t afford it. While the number of villagers buying water decreased, the number of strangers purchasing buckets of water increased.

Castiel didn’t think much about it until one day in mid-June, nine days before Dean’s scheduled arrival, when Hazel said, “I haven’t seen Ana lately. Have you?”

“No.” He frowned. “Not in several weeks. I’ll stop by her house on my way home.”

Hazel nodded, satisfied, and after Castiel helped James clean several fish they had caught, he headed for Ana’s house and knocked on the door.

Ana’s mother, a blond-haired woman named Priscilla, whom Castiel had briefly met twice, opened the door. “Castiel.” Her lips thinned when she saw him. “Ana is not well. Go home.”

Worry tightened around Castiel’s heart. “What’s wrong with her?”

A harsh line furrowed between her brows. “As if you don’t know!”

Castiel flinched, surprised and bewildered by her anger. Patiently, he said, “Please tell me what is wrong with Ana.”

Ana’s mother cast a look at the sky, teeth gritted, as if barely hanging onto her temper. “What’s _wrong_ is Echna tripled the price of water. We could barely afford it before. Now we have to stretch one bucket to last three weeks. It’s impossible.”

“Is Ana sick?”

Priscilla laughed. “Ana is _always_ sick! Don’t you see? She needs that water _every_ day. Echna knows that.”

Casitel remembered now that Ana had said the “special water” made her feel better. She clearly needed it on a regular basis in order to stay well.

“I see. Echna won’t let you have it for the old price.” Anger stirred. “I’ll speak to her.”

The fury on Priscilla’s face wavered, and tears formed in her eyes, making them look glassy. “Don’t promise what you can’t deliver.” She stepped back, gripping the door, as if ready to slam it in his face. But Ana appeared by her side.

She clutched her mother’s hand. Gray tinged her small face, but the child offered Castiel a small smile. “Can you come back another day, Casth? I don’t feel good. But I’d like to swing again.” Her large, sunken eyes pleaded up at him.

“Ana.” Castiel dropped to one knee so he could look her in the eyes. Trustingly, the child stared back. He could not believe the change in the little girl’s appearance. She tottered on her feet, and her face looked like death. “I’ll bring the water. I’ll make sure you get better. I promise.”

A small echo of her sunny smile flickered. “Thank you, Casth. When I’m better, you’ll push me on the swing again, right?”

He laughed. “Yes, Ana,” he said gravely. “And maybe Hazel will, too. She’s worried about you.”

Ana nodded, and Priscilla directed her inside. To Castiel, who rose to his feet, she said in a fierce whisper, “Deliver what you promise. Or Ana will die.”

“I will.” His flat tone made his resolution clear.

Priscilla nodded, and closed the door behind them. Castiel stared at the blank door, and the blank walls of the house, and the dark windows. Slowly, he turned and descended from the porch, his heart heavy. If he failed, Ana’s house would become a house of death.

*****

“Please let Ana’s family buy the water for the old price,” Castiel appealed to Echna. They stood outside the Rowley’s house, after the shop had closed for the evening. Clouds built overhead, warning of the first summer storm. “Ana is dying. They can’t afford three drachmas for a bucket.”

Echna cackled, as if genuinely amused that Castiel had bothered to bring this subject to her attention. “You _are_ a foolish boy.”

“Please. She needs...”

Echna laughed. It sounded cold and detached; so much so that the smile on her face seemed... _wrong_...somehow. As if it was a mask. As if she possessed no real human feelings. That the feelings she displayed now were divorced from normal human emotion. And Castiel knew, with a sinking heart, and based upon his own experience, that it was true. Echna did not care.

“You only care about the money.”

“The _gold_ ,” Echna corrected him, with another cackle. “One silver Tridrachm equals much more gold than one drachma. Simple math, my dear Castiel.”

“You must have thousands of drachmas. Why do you want more? What do you use them for, anyway?” The money he paid for provisions cost only one drachma a week. Before raising the prices, the Rowleys had made over 100 drachmas a week. Now they made three times that much. How did the Rowley’s spend all of that money? Or did they?

Glee still twinkled in Echna’s eyes, but she did not answer him. “Run up the hill like a good boy, Castiel. Do your chores.”

“ _No._ ” Anger slid like a twisting, clenching fist into his gut. “Other families need the water, too. Why not lower the price for Delphoi, and make strangers pay the higher prices?”

“Because we need the _gold,_ boy!” Ty’s sudden appearance startled Castiel. “Now get back to work. Now.”

“No.” Castiel set his jaw. “I won’t work unless Ana gets the water she needs. She will _die._ Don’t you understand?”

The two stared at him, their eyes glittering.

Desperately, he said, “If you won’t lower the price, then let me do extra work to pay for her water.”

Echna burst out laughing. “You’re not worth three drachmas a _year!_ ”

Anger fused in his gut, billowing like a hot, full head of steam. “Please reconsider. Or Ana will die.”

Echna cackled merrily.

“Lower the price,” Castiel’s voice sounded rough to his own ears. “Or I will not work for you. Ever again.”

Echna stopped laughing. Fury mottled Ty’s face red, and his fingers twitched at his sides. But what could he do? He could not force Castiel to work. And Castiel could fish for his own food for the next few days; for as long as it took the Rowleys to change their minds. They could not run the farm without him, and he knew they were too cheap to hire someone to take his place.

Again, he appealed to their sense of fairness. If it existed. “Charge Ana’s family a fair price. That is all I’m asking.”

The Rowleys stared at him, their faces masks of malice. Fear trickled down Castiel’s spine.

It was useless to talk to them, he finally realized. Trembling with anger, he stalked for the barn. Echna and Ty muttered behind him. Thunder rumbled overhead.

The mounded rows of asparagus caught his eye. The last of the asparagus needed to be harvested tonight, before the rain fell. Rain meant they’d need to wait to harvest. The plants would lose their tenderness with each day that passed. That bothered Castiel, because he cared about his plants, and about producing the best crops possible. But Ana was much more important than asparagus. More important than anything.

While he knew the Rowleys would take care of the animals if he refused to work, he also understood they would not be so kind to him. Planning to poison or harm him would probably be at the top of their list.

He’d have to leave the farm, Castiel realized as he approached the stone structure of the well. Tonight, he’d pack up his belongings in a blanket, bring a bottle of fresh water to drink, and pump two buckets for Ana. Then he’d leave. He didn’t know where he’d go, but he’d figure it out.

Castiel paused by the old well and touched one of the rough, solid timbers that held up the roof. At his knee, the pump imbedded in the ground pulled directly from the well. He’d miss the sweet well water, and Bess, Sweet Pea and even Henry. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long for the Rowleys to change their minds.

Behind him, the dark, rushing sound of footsteps...of wind...touched his ears, and Castiel had no time to feel anything but surprise and fear, before Ty grabbed his arms and shoved his forearms flush up against the strut. Echna whipped something dark and serpent-like around his wrists, binding him to the timber. She stood close beside him, and he couldn’t tell where her bony fingers and flowing black clothes ended, and the dark, almost transparent ropes writhed and coiled, binding him to the well.

He gasped in panic. “Let me go!” Echna kicked him, and black, snake-like ropes curled around both of his ankles, immobilizing him.

“No!” Terror blew through his mind. “What are you doing? Let me go!”

Echna smiled over Castiel’s shoulder, and nodded. The sick, happy glint in her eyes overwhelmed Castiel with horrified terror. What were they going to do to him? He viciously struggled to free himself, but the bonds only tightened, as if living creatures coiled and squeezed around his wrists.

“Now, Ty,” Echna said. “Teach him once and for all who is in charge of this farm.”

The whip that flayed into his back didn’t surprise Castiel. _Five_ whips did. They hissed into his shirt, splitting cloth, lacerating deep into his skin, and curled around his chest. It felt as if thousands of tiny needles raked into his skin. Castiel screamed in agony. Ty hit him again and again.

“Beg for mercy,” Echna cackled, but Castiel did not. Begging would not make them stop. He knew that, in his soul. Castiel’s world went gray, but still the pain did not stop. His knees buckled, and he sagged against the cold stone well. Ty’s vicious strokes seemed to increase in strength. Unending agony roared through him. Ty was going to kill him.

Castiel’s world went black.


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel awoke. White hot bursts of excruciating pain throbbed through his back and chest. Rain dripped onto his skin, and thunder rumbled overhead. He lay curled up in the cold, wet mud. His knee touched the hard stone wall of the well. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He just wanted to sink into oblivion. To escape from the pain. From _life_. He knew his wounds were bad. Would he recover? Or die?

Long moments passed. Gradually, he realized he wouldn’t black out again. Or die. Not yet, anyway.

It took another minute to gather the strength to open his eyes. Dark storm clouds gathered overhead; so dark they looked like roiling smoke, and so low they touched the barn’s roof.

Castiel lifted his arm to look at his chest. The small movement skewered pain through him, and he gritted his teeth, stifling a moan. Rain pattered down harder, soaking into his tattered shirt and bloody welts. He had to get up. It was raining. The mud would infect his wounds. He needed shelter.

Castiel pushed himself upright, and gritted his teeth to muffle another groan of agony. He wanted to whimper and cry like a child, but the Rowleys were probably watching. Any pain or tears he displayed would be another win for them. He refused to give them the satisfaction.

Blearily, trying not to move too much, he looked around. He needed healing water. A bucket lay on its side beside the well. Near the barn, two more lay on their sides. Ty had emptied them. He didn’t want the well water to heal Castiel quickly. He wanted him to suffer.

Biting his lip against the blinding pain, Castiel went up on his knees and grabbed the pump handle. He used one hand to pull the lever and cupped the other beneath the stream of water. The storm had just started. Maybe... Hoping against hope, he drank.

“Agh.” He spit it out. The bitter well water coated his tongue, tasting like corrosion and death. He gagged. The loft. He’d left a full bucket in the loft this morning.

Castiel grabbed hold of the pump, using it to hoist himself to his feet. His back felt like it was on fire. For one second, he couldn’t move. Was this what hell felt like?

A deep sob escaped. And then another. The shuddering gasps hurt his chest and back. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the rain sluicing over his exposed, raw, bloody skin. The warm rain tasted like his tears, and stung as it cleaned his open wounds. Castiel unbuttoned his shirt and dragged it off his shoulders. It fell to the ground.

Choked, agonized wails burned his lungs. His shredded skin burned like a furnace. He lifted his face to the sky. Agony, rage and humiliation overwhelmed him. Mindless fury soared, wild and violent and free.

He wanted to throw something. He wanted to scream.

_He wanted to hurt Echna and Ty Rowley._

Lightning flashed, and a tree exploded, flaming into a blazing torch on the edge of the forest. Thunder shook the earth. Castiel put a shaking hand to his head. “ _No!_ ” He would not become evil like the Rowleys.

Lightning forked again and again, flashing across the dark sky, and thunder exploded with the ferocity of mountains splitting open in heaven.

Castiel’s whole body felt like it was on fire. He had never felt such misery in his life. He wept in agony and desolation. _Dean._ He didn’t want to be alone right now. It had been so long since he’d seen his friend. Although Castiel had made new friends over the past year, Dean was different. He couldn’t explain exactly how. But Dean cared about him. His grin always, and so easily, lifted Castiel’s spirits. Just by being _there_ , Dean had made him feel safe and whole. As if he wasn’t alone.

Although Castiel was, in truth, alone. Always alone.

He shoved a hand under his eyes, wiping away the tears. Dean might return in eight days. Maybe. If Castiel wanted to survive until then, he needed to get moving.

He stumbled into the barn, feeling his sodden pants dragging low on his hips. He set his gaze on the ladder. _Water._ Fresh water from the bucket waited up in the loft. With white-knuckled fingers, he gripped the rungs and slowly crawled up, fighting the inferno of pain blistering through his skin with each movement. He made it through the opening in the ceiling and crawled into the attic. His dark blue blanket lay on the straw. The stool still stood beneath the window. But the bucket lay on its side. Water darkened the wooden floor. Ty had spilled his last source of fresh, healing water.

A pitiful sob caught in Castiel’s throat. He scanned his nest again, and then froze, unable to breathe. His jar of charcoal writing sticks had vanished. So had his little pile of drawings, and his thoughts he’d written on scraps of white bark.

Fear seized him, and he scrambled to his feet, ignoring the agonizing, fiery bands gripping his body. He stumbled to the corner where he’d hidden Dean’s birthday gifts.

An axe rested on the floor, and chopped paper formed a small mountain of white. Rowley had destroyed his precious books.

“ _No!_ ” he screamed.

Castiel grabbed the axe and hurled it with all his strength to the far end of the barn. It stuck in the wall, quivering.

“ _No!_ ” he roared again. His voice sounded hoarse. Broken. “ _No,_ ” he sobbed, and pitched face first into his blanket. He sobbed in agony as the storm gathered force outside. The heavens opened up, and rain poured down like a mighty river.

*****

At some point, Castiel must have lost consciousness, for when he opened his eyes again, the loft was even darker. Violent gusts of wind shook the building, and rain lashed against the window pane. An unearthly howl shrieked through the gale. It reminded Castiel of the blizzard in December. The sound scratched claws into his spirit, and shrieked like a demon through his soul. It terrified him.

He scanned his tiny home again, and remembered what had happened. It hurt to breathe. Ty had chopped his books to bits. The Rowleys had destroyed everything valuable to him.

But the jar of ointment still rested on the windowsill. That surprised him. So, although the Rowleys didn’t want the well water to heal him quickly, they did want him to heal. So he could work for them again.

He would _never_ work for them again. 

Cas climbed to his feet, clenching his teeth against the fire flaying like serpent tongues into his skin. He smeared the green paste over every bloody stripe on his body. A few hurt like Hades to reach, for it meant popping open wounds that had begun to close, in order to apply the salve. But each gash needed the paste to prevent infection. When he finished, tears streamed down his cheeks.

Hands shaking, he replaced the paste on the sill, and took stock of his small home. On the plus side, he still had the old blue blanket he’d possessed for most of his life. But the Rowleys had stolen back the quilt. And his books.... _His books._ Castiel set his jaw, teeth clenched, and continued to survey the loft. His extra shirt and pants hung on the hook. But nothing else remained. Nothing except for straw.

Thirst burned in his throat. He needed water. Fresh, clean well water. But the well wouldn’t clear out until the storm stopped, which, from the shrieking wind outside, wouldn’t end anytime soon. And he couldn’t drink the brackish well water.

Maybe milk. Castiel turned his aching body and carefully climbed down the ladder again.

Down on the lower level, Henry greeted him with a squeal. His dark eyes followed Castiel’s movements, and his nose pressed against the pen’s wooden slats.

“Nothing for you, Henry,” Castiel muttered. Rowley would have to feed and water the pigs tonight. Their food trough was licked clean. One little piglet clambered inside and squealed loudly. No doubt one of Henry’s offspring. The water trough was full, though, so Castiel didn’t need to worry. The pigs could live without a meal if Rowley forgot about them. But they couldn’t live without fresh water.

Fresh water.

_Castiel had filled the trough this morning with sweet well water._

Heart lifting with hope for the first time, he grabbed an empty bucket, entered the pigs’ pen, and dipped up a bucketful from the pigs’ water trough. Leaves and nasty bits of who-knew-what floated in it, but Castiel didn’t mind. He tipped back his head and drank deeply, until water dripped down his chin. Then he filled the bucket again. The pigs silently watched as he re-latched the gate behind him. Then Henry squealed in consternation, realizing that Castiel had not fed him.

Castiel hauled the bucket upstairs and hid it at the far end of the loft, under a rotted old barrel. Exhaustion pulled at his mind, and his body burned with pain. He stumbled back to his blanket and curled up on his side. He fell instantly asleep.

*****

For three days and nights it poured, and the wind screamed like a hurricane, making the barn walls shudder, as if a giant hand shook the very foundations of the building. Castiel couldn’t bring himself to worry that the walls might fall down.

He could barely move when he woke up that first morning. He spent the next three days only rising to drink the pigs’ water from the bucket. Sometimes, when his stomach hurt with hunger, he crawled downstairs and drank milk from Bess or Henrietta, or stole eggs from the chickens, and picked apples from the tree near the barn, under cover of night. But he did no chores.

Castiel heard Rowley moving about the barn twice a day, silently taking care of the animals. Ty did not attempt to climb up to the loft. At times, Castiel heard screaming arguments float through the air, coming from the Rowley’s hut, but he couldn’t hear what was said. No one brought food to the barn. He didn’t expect them to.

His wounds seeped blood onto the blanket. He didn’t put on his only remaining shirt. No sense getting that dirty, too.

While the storm raged outside, anger festered in Castiel’s soul. And while he healed, he planned. On the evening of the fourth day, when his wounds finally were fully scabbed over and the pain was tolerable, he pulled on his only shirt and pumped clean well water into two large buckets. Under cover of darkness, he trudged through the forest, and down the hill to Ana’s house. He slipped into her backyard and placed the buckets on the porch. That should help Ana for a while. He hoped the little girl was all right. He wished he could have come sooner.

Afterward, he returned to the barn. He packed up his meager belongings, as well as a bottle of clear well water and a few vegetables, and headed out to the village again. He had no idea where he’d go, but he ended up wandering toward the homeless camp. The moon hung, heavy and full overhead, and glowed white off of the roaring, swollen river. The bridge quickly loomed closer, and he stopped short.

 _The river flowed inches below the bridge._ The flooded river had washed away the homeless camp.

Heart in his throat, he shouted, “James! ...Hazel!”

No one replied. He ran past the bridge and scanned the moonlit landscape. Broken branches, ripped cloth and other odds and ends dotted the shore. Remnants of the camp? “James!” he shouted again. “Hazel!”

A figure appeared at the edge of the woods. White hair looked like a halo in the moonlight. “Castiel! That you?”

“James,” Castiel said with relief, and ran over. “What happened?”

“Camp washed away in the storm,” the old man said. Dark bags sagged beneath his sad looking eyes. “Granny Wiggins died in the flash flood.”

“Granny...is dead?” Castiel choked out. Tears burned his eyes.

“Come on, now.” James gently tugged on his arm. “I can see you’ve a story of your own. We’ve plenty of room in the clearing. You’re welcome to everything we have.”

Castiel could not believe that Granny Wiggins was gone. He entered the little clearing. A dozen people sat on sodden logs arranged around a blazing fire. The elderly woman’s slow-witted son sat alone. Granny, with her swift needles and kind heart, was dead.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered.

“It’s a fact of life, son. You push on.” Although James’ voice sounded matter-of-fact, his slumped shoulders told a different story. “Bitter winds blow bitter omens.”

“What?”

James eyed Cas for a long time. “Castiel, times are about to change. Not yet. But soon. I feel it. It’ll all turn around and in on itself again. The Vortex.”

James had taught him a little about ancient Empedocles’ theories of “The Vortex” and the “Sphere” last winter. “The end will become the beginning again?”

“Love and strife. Good and evil. And let’s not forget peace and war. Love and hatred. Truth and lies. It will soon be too late.”

“What do you mean?”

James shook his head, and the light in his eyes faded. “Doesn’t matter. I suspect we’re only pawns in the hands of fate. Face what comes, and soldier through it.”

“You think the storm was an omen?”

“Aye. And the blizzard. The beginning of the end.”

Castiel decided to reveal something he’d never told anyone before. “Storms speak to me. I feel them. But the last two felt different. They shrieked. Their power felt...malicious.”

James eyed him. “You, Castiel, will play a hand in fate.”

“What do you mean?” The words worried him.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to find that out for yourself.” James gestured to an unoccupied corner of camp. “You’re welcome to find your own place here. Stay as long as you’d like. We’re rebuilding downstream, on higher ground. The village will chase us out of here soon enough. Too close to Delphoi.”

“I’ll help you rebuild tomorrow. Just tell me how I can help.”

*****

Over the next four days, Castiel helped the homeless group rebuild their camp on higher ground.

Cas soon finished the bottle of water he’d brought, and then he drank river water to keep hydrated in the hot sun. It was strange, though. As much as he drank, he couldn’t seem to quench his thirst. The river water left a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth.

Each day grew worse than the one before. Castiel constantly felt thirsty, and his brain grew fuzzy. Even when someone brought a bucket of milk to the camp and he drank it, it did not help. Finally, on the fourth day, James noticed.

“You look haggard, son. Eyes sunken in, face flushed.” He peered closer into Castiel’s face. “You drinking enough water?”

“Yes.” A dozen dipperfuls that morning, in fact. Castiel’s mouth felt sore, and his throat raw. His tongue felt thick, his saliva sticky, and it hurt to talk. Even worse, his thoughts felt like slow, sticky sap. Today was important. Special. But he couldn’t remember how, or why. He felt miserable. He could barely think, or form one thought ahead of another. Or walk, one foot in front of the other.

“Take a break,” the old man advised. “Go to the park. Sit under the trees for a spell. You’ve been working too hard.”

Castiel did as advised. In truth, he thought if he stayed out in the sun any longer he’d keel over. He found a shaded bench in the park and sat down. It felt like his insides wanted to collapse. He felt light-headed, and his throat hurt. He just wanted to lie down and curl up in the cool grass. Maybe he’d go to sleep, and never wake up.

“Castiel!” The cheery voice made him jerk upright.

He sent a tired, dry-eyed glance at Ana’s cheerful face. “Ana. I’m glad you’re well.”

She frowned at once. “You’re sick!”

Castiel licked his dry lips, and dropped his gaze. “I’m so thirsty...” He just wanted to lie down.

Ana continued to stare at him. When he tiredly raised his eyes again, she regarded him with crossed arms. “I know you ran away from home. And I know you brought the water to our house. I was so sick. And now I’m not. Thank you, Castiel.”

He nodded, for he didn’t have the spit or the will to speak further.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Ana sprinted out of view.

Castiel didn’t have plans of going anywhere, except maybe sliding onto the ground, and even that seemed too much effort. Finally, he couldn’t remain upright any longer, and he sort of slid sideways and tumbled onto the ground.

A small hand patting his cheek woke him. He slit open aching eyes. Ana sat next to him, looking sad and serious. “Sit up, Castiel, or this will spill.” She tugged at his arm. Although he didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to worry the little girl more than he already had. Dredging up a bit of strength, he sat up and leaned sideways against the bench. He closed his eyes again.

“Here.” Something metal, cold and wet pressed against his hot, dry lips. “Drink. But be careful. Mama said this is all we can spare.”

Castiel opened his eyes. Water sparkled in a metal dipper. “Water doesn’t help. River water...”

“ _This_ water will help. Drink,” Ana urged.

Castiel carefully gripped the dipper and drank. The familiar, sweet water cooled his tongue and slid healing liquid down his parched throat. _Oh, it was good._ Only a few swallows remained, and he drank them carefully. He closed his eyes again.

A few minutes passed, and slowly a cool sensation washed through his insides, taking the edge off of his horrible thirst. He needed more, but it was enough to allow him to think again. To function again. He opened his eyes to encounter Ana’s concerned stare. “Thank you,” he said gravely.

“You see now, don’t you?” she said. “You need the well water, just like I do. Without it, you’ll die.”

Castiel rested his forehead in his dry, cracked palms. He had begun to suspect it. The idea had tickled through the back of his sluggish mind over the last several days. The thought had never crossed his mind before, while living on the farm, as he’d had constant, easy access to the water. But he did need the well water to survive. _He couldn’t live without it._

It bound him to the farm. And to the Rowleys. Forever. He squeezed his eyes shut against that intolerable thought.

And so he must return to the farm.

Castiel’s head throbbed. He needed more water. But to get it, he must return home, and possibly endure another beating.

“Castiel?”

“Thank you, Ana.”

She nodded. “I have to go. Please, Castiel. I don’t want you to die.”

“I don’t want to die, either.” Or did he? What more did he have to live for, if only to return to more beatings, administered by the Rowleys whenever they felt like it? Not to mention cruelty, and endless work with only a few scraps of food to show for it at the end of the day. In that moment, Castiel hated his life. He could not go on like this anymore. “Go home, Ana. Your mother will be worried about you.”

“Please get better. I’ll see you soon.” With a final backward look, the child ran home, silver dipper clutched in her hand.

After awhile, Castiel made his way back to the riverbank, gathered up his things and said his goodbyes. He knew what he had to do. As dusk descended, he headed for the farm, but he kept to the woods, so the Rowleys wouldn’t spot him.

Black night closed around him. The moon hadn’t risen yet, but still Castiel waited, on the edge of the woods, until the last light in the Rowley’s house snuffed out. And still he waited. Thirst clawed like a fire-breathing dragon in the back of his throat.

Finally, carefully, he crept up to the well. He pulled the pump lever and drank directly from the cold water that gushed onto the ground. Henry squealed, and Castiel’s heart jerked in alarm.

He glanced toward the Rowley’s house, but it remained dark and silent. He drank until he could drink no more. Then he gathered up two buckets and filled them to the brim. As the moon rose, he carried the buckets to the fire pit that Dean had made so long ago. He missed Dean now, more than ever—perhaps because when Dean had been there, for a few glorious days he’d felt happy. Now he felt dead inside. And so lonely.

Castiel finally remembered why this day was special. It was June 20th. Their shared birthday. But Dean had not come.

Perhaps he would never come again.

Castiel shut the self-pitying thoughts out of his head and returned to the farm, where he gathered up as many apples and vegetables as he could carry, and brought them back to the stream, too. He also brought four eggs for the morning. He ate until he was full, and then wrapped his dirty blue blanket around himself and lay down in the soft dirt next to the fire pit. He gazed through the trees, up at the stars. He hadn’t dreamed of starlight or flying, or soft, comforting lullabies in a long time. He felt so alone, and he didn’t know what to do.

Ana was right. He did need the well water to survive. He couldn’t live in the woods forever.

Could he?

Castiel was too pragmatic to believe this for long. The reality he faced, of returning to the farm, more beatings, and the continued injustice toward Ana and his other friends who needed the well water, and backbreaking, unending work...

The negative thoughts made him feel more hopeless by the moment. He tried to think about something else.

He remembered that tomorrow was Midsummer’s Eve. The summer solstice was a day late this year, so it didn’t land on his birthday. Maybe Dean meant to return on Midsummer’s Eve.

His heart lifted with hope. He remembered last year, when Dean had insisted they celebrate their birthdays on Midsummer’s Eve, even though Castiel had had no idea on which day he’d been born. The Rowleys had poisoned him that day, but Dean had helped him. Furious, Dean had confronted the Rowleys. He’d also given Castiel the wonderful books. In return, Castiel had given Dean the drawing. He had seemed to like it, but now Castiel wished he’d kept it and given Dean a different picture. He’d begun to forget what his friend looked like.

Dean had promised to return and spend another birthday together. But he hadn’t returned yet. Would he come at all?

Hopelessness crushed down on Castiel, and the misery of the last week overwhelmed him. The first tears in days formed, thanks to the cool water nourishing his body. He huddled in his blanket and silently wept.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean approached the stream. Worry twisted in his gut. He’d seen old man Rowley tending the animals in the barn this morning, but he’d seen no sign of Cas. Dean had stayed out of sight, and slipped into the woods. Where was Castiel?

He found the old stepping stones at the brook and crossed them, and then strode upstream, toward the fire pit. When he spotted the dark blue blanket wrapped around a sleeping body, the anxious feeling in his chest eased, and his steps slowed.

“Hey, Cas,” he called, not wanting to startle his friend.

The blanket bundle moved, and dark, messy hair appeared. Blue, blue eyes blinked up at him. Something twisted in Dean’s gut, and then slid right into place. He’d missed Cas. He’d known it for a while, but hadn’t realized how strongly until right now, seeing Castiel’s face again after such a long time.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said again, with a small smile.

“Dean!” Castiel struggled to sit upright, and to free himself of the hampering blanket. Relief, joy, and other, unidentifiable emotions, flitted across his features. “You came.” His voice was deeper than last year.

“’Course.” Dean noted the dried salt streaks on Cas’s cheeks, and how his dark eyelashes clumped together. Cas had been _crying._

He crouched down. “Hey, man,” he said softly. “What happened?”

Castiel shook his head, and escaped from his blanket. He moved slowly, as if he’d been injured, and lowered himself onto a rock. Quiet joy lit his small smile. “It’s good to see you, Dean. How have you been?”

“Okay. I wanted to get here earlier, but Dad rented the cabin late this year. It was all we could get.”

“That’s okay.” Castiel smiled again. His penetrating blue eyes studied Dean, as if able to see into soul. It made Dean feel uncomfortable, because maybe he _could._ “Tell me about your year. You look older. More mature. Like life has been hard.”

Dean didn’t want to talk about last year, or the endless hunts, or the blood on his hands, or trying to keep Sam safe when Dad was gone. How he’d failed once, and Sammy had been kidnapped. He wanted to forget it all. “Sometimes life sucks,” was all he’d allow to pass his lips. “But everything’s good now.”

“Is Sam at summer camp?”

“Nope. Just the three of us, at the cabin all week.”

“You’ll want to get back soon, then.”

Dumbfounded, Dean stared at Castiel. “I want to see _you_. I came all this way, man.” Not to mention he’d begged and pleaded and bargained so his father would rent this cabin again. Those hadn’t been his finest moments, but he’d prevailed. “Really, Cas? What are you thinking?”

Castiel blinked, and bit his lip. “Things have been bad here, Dean. You don’t want to get involved. You should go home.”

Now Dean was more convinced than ever that he not only wanted, but _should_ stay. “Spill it. Tell me everything. And I mean _everything._ ”

“First, let’s have breakfast.” Castiel took his job as host seriously, as always. Dean didn’t mention that he’d already eaten, but Cas was clearly hungry. His face looked pinched, and his clothes hung in sharp planes off of his body. He’d gained bulk in his shoulders over the last year, but still managed to look painfully thin. Not good. Dean chewed on a carrot while Cas set water on to boil in an old pot, and slipped four eggs inside.

Dean had to prompt Cas to speak again, because it didn’t seem like he planned to do so anytime soon, even after he’d pulled the hard boiled eggs out of the pot and lay them to cool on a rock. “Cas? I’m waiting.”

Castiel sighed, and began to speak. By the time the eggs had vanished (Dean insisted that Cas eat all four of them), Dean felt a rage simmering in him that he could barely contain. He paced the stream bank, hands alternately clenching into fists or scrubbing through his hair.

He struggled to process it all. If he’d thought his year was bad, Cas’s had been far worse. Cas had received a beating—which he had glossed over—he had run away, and nearly died of thirst. Dean had the gut feeling Castiel had left out some important chunks, but he felt furious enough as it was. He didn’t know if he could handle more right this second.

Quietly, Castiel finished, “I have to return to the farm. I can’t live without the water.”

“What’s with the well water, anyway?”

“I’m not sure. It heals, like it did for you, when you hurt your ankle last year. But for some of us...” Castiel drew a deep breath. “We’ll die without it.”

“You and Ana. Anyone else?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, that sucks.” Dean didn’t ask if Cas was sure, because based on the description of his last few days, it seemed pretty clear that he needed the well water to survive. Again, Dean wondered _where_ in time he’d stepped. He’d just been grateful that he’d been able to pass through the same two purple blossomed trees as last year, and ended up in this same place. In Cas’s world—wherever, and _whenever_ it might be.

“Yes, Dean. It sucks.” It seemed strange to hear the off color language fall so bitterly from Castiel’s lips.

“You’re _not_ going back.”

“Dean...”

“Not yet. I saw Rowley. The old man’s working the farm all by himself. Make him sweat it some more. Make him realize how much he needs you.”

“ _I_ need the farm. Well, the water.”

“Does he know that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t let him find out. Make him sweat it for a few more days, and then go to him from a position of power. Of leverage.”

Castiel looked bewildered. “I’m sure that’s a good idea. But...what do you mean?”

“You’ll negotiate. You’ll set down the terms under which you’ll return to work. No more slave labor. No more beatings. Think about what you want. Then ask for it. Demand it. I’ll go with you, if you want.”

“I would like that.” Cas thought for a few minutes. “I know what I want,” he said finally. “I’d like to live in the cabin at the edge of the woods. I might be safer there, than I am in the barn. I’d like a wage, so I can buy my own safe food and clothes. That should be enough.” Hope sparked in his eyes, as if this truly would be enough to make him happy.

“That is nowhere _near_ enough, Cas!”

Castiel blinked. “But I would be content. I don’t want to be greedy, Dean.”

“You’re selling yourself short. And think about Ana. Make sure she gets the water she needs. Forever. Free. That’s just a start.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“And you’ll ask for a day off each week. And a _good_ salary. Think about that water they’re selling. You’re pumping twenty buckets a day, seven days a week. They get one drachma for each one.”

“Thirty buckets now,” Cas corrected him. “For three drachmas each.”

“Man!” Dean frowned. “Ninety drachmas a day? Multiply that by seven days a week... that’s 630 drachmas a _week_ , Cas. Ask for half.”

“Half? But that’s a lot of money.” He frowned. “And I don’t understand something, Dean. With all that money, the Rowleys much be rich. But they live like paupers. They told me they want gold. But why? They don’t seem to spend it. What do they want it for?”

“Strange. There’s a lot of weird ass sh... things I don’t get around here. But you, Cas, are going to get what you deserve.”

He nodded. “I suppose I’ll live in the woods for a few more days, and then make my demands.”

Dean didn’t like that plan, but couldn’t explain why. He noticed Cas’s extra pair of pants, rolled up and placed neatly on a nearby rock. He didn’t see the books he’d given him. “How’s your reading going?”

Castiel’s smile vanished. “I memorized the dictionary, and read the Bible several times.”

“Memorized the dictionary. Wow. Sounds hard. And something Sammy would do. He’s a brainiac, too.” He wondered why Cas’s features looked so pinched.

“I found the Bible fascinating. Some of it is disturbing, but most of it is wonderful.”

“Yeah. I’m not really into that sort of thing. but I thought you might like it.”

“The killings for land are disturbing, but I suppose that still goes on today. But the idea that God loves each of us so much—that is amazing.” Wonder tinged Cas’s voice.

Dean cleared his throat and looked down. “Yeah.”

“Don’t you think that’s true, Dean?”

“If it is, he probably doesn’t think much of me.”

Clear bewilderment crossed Cas’s features. “Why not?”

“Never mind. Hey, I have a better idea than you hanging out in the woods. Come home with me.”

Cas’s eyes widened in complete shock. “But... How could I? I’d love to, Dean, but what about the water?”

“We’ll lug a few pails there. It’ll be golden. What do you say?” He offered his most persuasive grin. “It’d be fun. Sammy’d be glad to see you again, too.”

“Wouldn’t your father mind?”

“Nah.” Dean didn’t really know, but he’d make it fine.

“Well then, okay.” Happiness lit Cas’s features, and he tucked his extra pair of pants and a few vegetables in his blanket and rolled it up. “Last night I wanted to quit. I’m so glad you came.”

“Yeah.” A lump formed in Dean’s throat when he looked at Cas’s open, relieved smile. “I’m glad I came, too, buddy.”

Dean led the way through the woods, carrying the two buckets. “Hey,” he said casually. “You’re traveling light. Did you leave the rest of your stuff in the barn?”

Castiel bit his lip. “No.” He said no more.

That catch in Dean’s gut wouldn’t shut up. He eyed Castiel. He knew he wouldn’t like the answer to his next question. “You going to tell me what happened to the books? And your drawings?”

Castiel hiked in silence for a few minutes, clearly not wanting to answer. Finally, curtly, he said, “The Rowleys destroyed them.”

Dean’s fingers tightened around the bucket handles. “What?” He was proud of how even his voice sounded.

Castiel gave him a quick look. Maybe his cool vibe hadn’t sounded as calm as he’d thought.

“After the beating. They destroyed them.” Cas’s jaw tightened, and he said no more. But the pain evidenced by his quick swallow hit Dean like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t stand it. Even though he’d only known Cas only for a short time, his pain bothered him as much as Sammy’s did. He wanted to fix things. To make things better.

He wanted to _take out_ the Rowleys.

“Son of a _bitch,_ ” he muttered under his breath.


	13. Chapter 13

Castiel glanced at Dean. The other boy’s shoulders looked stiff. He was clearly trying to appear calm, and even now he shot Castiel a quick, half smile. “Forget about it, man. We’ll get you more books. Better books. And paper and pencils for sketching.”

“I have no money, Dean,” Castiel reminded him quietly.

“Then we’ll work out a bartering system. Don’t worry about it. Here we are.” He strode for a pair of medium-sized trees covered in deep purple flowers.

Castiel smiled. “Mountain laurel. Usually they bloom earlier in June.”

“Really?” Dean looked at the trees more closely. A few petals lay scattered on the ground. “They bloomed last year, too, at this time.”

“Unusual,” Castiel said. “They probably have another week or two before the last flower falls.”

Dean stopped just before he reached the twin trees. He turned to face Cas, his expression serious. “This is where things change. You’re going to enter my world now. It’s different than yours. A _lot_ different.”

Castiel glanced between the trees. He saw only forest. “What do you mean?”

“I mean... Come on.” Dean stepped between the trees. His silhouette faded, and then vanished completely.

“Dean!”

His friend reappeared, like a ghost, and then his body solidified into solid human flesh again. “You coming?”

Castiel’s mouth hung open. “Are...are you a ghost?”

He laughed. “No.”

“But you disappeared!”

Dean gripped his arm and urged him toward the trees. “It’s a gateway, Cas. Look. I’ll step through again.” He released his arm and stepped just past the midline of the tree “gateway.” Castiel could still see him, but he looked a bit ethereal, and other-worldly.

Dean grinned. “Oh man, I see what you mean. _You_ look like a ghost, too.”

If Dean could do it, so could he. And Castiel wanted to go wherever Dean might be. Gathering his courage, he stepped between the trees. Dean became solid again, and the trees on this side of the mountain laurels... Castiel looked around. He saw a few familiar birch trees, but he primarily saw pine trees now. Few pines grew in his own world. Over the tree tops, white-capped mountains soared. His mouth gaped. “Where _are_ we?”

“Washington state. Good ol’ US of A.”

“What is a US of A?”

Dean’s lips twisted a little. “A whole lot of culture shock is coming your way. Ready for it? My world is nothing like yours.”

“I’d guessed that already. But...” Castiel looked back through the purple laurel trees. They looked even more out of place in Dean’s forest than they had in his own. And between them...he saw only more pine and birch trees. His forest, the farm—his life—all of it had vanished. “James talked about worlds splintering apart... But how could this be?”

“I don’t know.” His friend started walking again. “Who’s James?”

As they trekked through quiet, cool forest, Castiel told Dean about the James, Hazel, and the homeless community.

Dean listened intently, and interrupted only a few times. When Castiel had finished, he said, “You left a _whole_ _lot_ out of your story the first time, man.” His green eyes held Cas’s, and something told Castiel that he knew he _still_ hadn’t heard the whole story. “When you’re ready, I want to hear it all.” His voice sounded rough, and deeper than last year. And now he was a little taller than Castiel now, too.

“By the way, Happy birthday, Dean.”

“Happy birthday to you too, Cas. Sweet sixteen.” A grin lifted the corners of his lips. “Bet you’ve never been kissed.”

Castiel’s face flushed hot.

Dean laughed at him. “We’ll fix that. This mountain town may be on the hick side, but there’s a dance tomorrow. We’ll go and find you a babe.”

Castiel’s face flushed even hotter. “You mean a _woman_ , Dean?” He didn’t know why he was whispering. “No. I’m not ready...”

“Not yet,” he agreed. “You definitely need more modern clothes. We’re the same size. You can borrow mine.”

“Dean...” The thought of going to a social function with Dean and meeting strangers...and women, terrified Castiel. “I...I can’t. I’m not socially...”

“I won’t leave you. I’ll be with you the whole time. Until you...you know.” Dean wiggled his brows. Then he laughed. “Man, you’re as red as a tomato. Don’t you know some hot chicks in your village?”

“I’m not sure what chickens have to do with dancing, or with women,” Castiel said with frustration.

He laughed again. “Chicks are hot girls. But I know—you’d go for the sweet ones. I’m sure we’ll find one. Don’t worry.”

Castiel silently huffed. Dean seemed set on this course of action. And since Castiel would be Dean’s guest, he supposed he should be gracious, and go along with his plan. After all, Dean seemed to think it would be fun. While it sounded utterly terrifying to Castiel, perhaps he should give his friend the benefit of the doubt and give it a try. “All right. I’ll go.”

Dean grinned. “Sweet. You’ll have a blast. Promise. Okay. Here we are.” He nodded ahead to a large cabin set in a clearing up ahead. “The car is gone, so Dad’s not home. Golden. Sammy!” he shouted, striding faster.

The cabin was constructed of sturdy wooden logs and a shake roof. A wide, covered porch wrapped around the front part of the house. It was the largest house Castiel had ever seen—next to Ana’s, of course, which was two stories high, and one of the largest in Delphoi. He stepped across a wide, graveled path and followed Dean up the steps to the porch, where his friend set down the two buckets of water.

Dean twisted the door knob and shouldered his way inside. “Sammy? Where are you?”

Castiel slowly followed his friend into the house. He stopped after only one step, his eyes widening in shocked wonder.

Dean’s father must be _rich_. Polished wood covered the floors. Scattered, colorful rugs brightened the room. Plush green couches sat arranged facing a large, flat, rectangular upright box on a low table.

A kitchen occupied the space to the left. The counters looked to be made of marble, and a spigot looped over a deep basin. Did water come out of that device? Did water flow _inside_ the house?

Cabinets made of honey-hued wood covered the kitchen walls, and in the space between the kitchen and living area was a raised, built in sort of table, flanked by high black stools. Large windows let in soft light.

Castiel blinked, and willed his mouth to shut. Dean reappeared in the hallway directly ahead of him. “Come on back. You’ll bunk with me.”

Sam poked his head out of an open doorway. His hair looked shaggier than last year, and he’d grown taller. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hi, Sam.” Castiel smiled. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Want to play video games later? Dean’s such a dork. He doesn’t know the cool ones.”

“You mean I wipe your ass with the best ones, and now you’re trying to find new ones to beat me with.” Dean disappeared into a room at the very end of the hall. He stuck his head back out and directed a big brotherly glare at Sam. “Dream on.”

Castiel carried his blanket, still tucked under his arm, into the large room that looked as wide as the house.

“Look, there’s the closet,” Dean pointed to the left end of the room, where an open door revealed shirts hanging from wooden rods. “And there are the two twin beds. Take your pick. Which one do you want?”

Castiel carefully eyed the beds, each of which was covered by quilts made of blues, greens and whites. The one nearest the closet looked messy. He guessed that one was Dean’s. He moved to the bed on the right. A fluffy white object rested at the head of the bed, near the wall. Cautiously, he touched it with one calloused finger. Soft. Like nothing he’d ever touched before. Gingerly, he sat on the bed. Firm, yet deliciously comfortable. “I’m to sleep here?” he said, just to be sure.

Dean eyed him. “Have you ever sleep in a bed in your life?” Castiel shook his head.

Sam, in the doorway, said, “ _What?_ ”

“This is all new to Cas,” Dean told him, his voice rough. “Everything’s new. Will you help him out, Sammy? Help him adjust?”

“Yeah!” Sam sounded eager to do just that. “Come on, Cas, I’ll show you the john and the shower.”

Castiel followed Sam down the hall and was dumbfounded to discover that lights flicked on at the touch of a switch. The flushing toilet, running water, and the shower that sprayed warm water left him speechless. Sam pointed out the soap and shampoo. “Just scrub it around on your body and rinse it off,” he advised. “And look. Here are the towels. Mine’s brown. Dean’s is blue. Dad’s red, so I guess that leaves green for you.”

Castiel touched the soft green towel and didn’t know what to say. He cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he told Sam. And to Dean, who leaned against the door frame, “Thank you, Dean.” Emotion thickened his voice.

“Don’t thank us yet. We can’t cook worth beans.”

Somehow, Castiel didn’t quite believe him.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean convinced Cas to try out the shower—he didn’t want to be rude, but the dude looked grubby, and exhausted. A hot shower would help. He also pressed a white AC/DC T-shirt into his arms, and an old pair of jeans that would probably fit.

“Really, Dean... I can’t.” Cas stared down at the pile in his arms, and stared at Dean with wide blue eyes. “These are your clothes...”

“I’ve got plenty more. And yours need a wash.” Dean felt bad when Cas flinched, but felt satisfied when he stopped arguing. “When you get out, we’ll have lunch and make some plans. Or maybe we’ll just chill.”

Castiel looked dubious, but he disappeared inside the bathroom and shut the door. After a while, the water turned on. It ran for a long time. Eventually, Castiel emerged in the living room, his face pink from the hot room, messy hair sticking up in any number of directions, and wearing Dean’s T-shirt and jeans. Both fit him well, molding over his lean, ripped body.

Dean stared at Cas for a second, and swallowed. “Think you rock those clothes better than I do,” he managed, with a short, awkward laugh. What in the _hell_ was he thinking? “They’re yours. Keep ’em, man.”

“No...”

“I insist. No take backs. You hungry? We got PB and J for now. Dad called. He’ll bring pizza for dinner.”

Castiel swallowed with clear anticipation, although he probably didn’t know what PB & J or pizza were. “Sounds delicious.”

For the first time, Dean noticed the dirty clothes clutched in Cas’s hand. “Come on. I’ll show you the washer. Get your blanket, too. We’ll wash them all at once.”

Castiel watched with wonder as Dean put in soap and pressed buttons on the front loading washer. Water streamed into the tub, and the agitator turned. Cas touched the machine. “This washes clothes?”

“And that one dries.” He smiled, enjoying Cas’s wide-eyed amazement. “Come on. Ready for some lunch?”

Castiel cautiously edged onto a bar stool next to Sam, and watched Dean and Sam spread generous portions of peanut butter and grape jelly on wheat bread. He copied their example, and Dean poured him a glass of milk. “Know you like this stuff,” he grinned.

Cas carefully lifted the glass and sipped. His nose wrinkled. “This is milk? It tastes like water.”

“All the fat and good stuff is pasteurized and skimmed off,” Dean agreed. “See if it helps you—you know. With being thirsty.”

Castiel drank the milk, but didn’t seem to enjoy it, if his squinting eyes were any indication. After the first bite of the sandwich, though, he practically inhaled the remainder.

Dean shoved the bag of bread toward him. “Eat as much as you want.” To prove his point, he made himself another sandwich, which seemed to encourage Cas to do the same. It gave Dean a sense of satisfaction to see him chew and savor the second sandwich, his too-lean cheeks filled with delicious PB & J. The guy was starving. Had been, for as long as Dean had known him. That travesty would end right here and now.

“The milk doesn’t help. Not with the thirst,” Castiel said after a while.

Sam piped up, “What?”

So Dean explained about Cas’s water in the buckets, and how it was only for Castiel. Just to be on the safe side, they carried the buckets to the back bedroom, and then Dean cleaned up the kitchen while Sam showed Cas how to play video games. Castiel looked bemused, bewildered and amazed by the space ships zooming across the screen and exploding in blinding flashes of color. Probably not the smoothest transition into modern living, but he seemed to be handling it well so far.

The afternoon passed swiftly. After a while, Dean had to show Cas how a true master played video games, which meant pulverizing Sammy’s ships into oblivion. Sam scowled, but Cas intently watched Dean’s every finger twitch on the control, and every strategy on the screen. When Dean handed the controller back to him, he wasn’t surprised when Sammy’s ships flamed into oblivion within minutes. The guy was a quick study. Brilliant.

Sam scowled. “Did Dean teach you how to cheat?” His lower lip threatened a sulk. Dean laughed and ruffled his hair. “Cas is a brainiac like you, Sam. You’ve got your work cut out for you now.”

A car pulled up in their driveway. Dean rose swiftly. “Back in a minute.” He let himself outside.

“Dad.”

John slammed the car door. He pulled two boxes of pizza off the car top, and headed for the porch. “What’s up? Your friend still here for pizza?”

“Yeah, Dad. Listen.” Dean cleared his throat. He hadn’t told his father the whole story over the phone. “If it’s okay, Cas is going to stay with us for a while.”

“A while?” John’s brow lifted.

“He’s...kind of in a jam. His home situation is...bad. He can’t go back right now.”

“Bad?” John frowned. “What are we talking about?”

Dean licked his lips. If he knew Cas, he wouldn’t want his dirty laundry aired, and Dean didn’t want to explain the whole, crazy situation to his father, either. “Um. His...dad...beats him sometimes when he’s...” What? Insane? Possessed?

“Drunk?”

“Yeah. Drunk. Cas needs a few days out of the house. For things to settle down. Is that okay? He’ll bunk with me.”

“You’re not telling me everything.”

“It’s complicated. Please, Dad.”

John regarded him. “You begged and pleaded to come here, Dean. You wouldn’t give me a straight answer why, and that’s okay. But now I have to ask. Did it have anything to do with your friend, Cas?”

“Part of it.” All of it. But Dean _did_ like the lake and the hikes and cabin; all of which he’d played up in order to convince his father to come back.

“At some point, I want the whole story.” John moved toward the door. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Most of the time. I’ll trust you on this for now. And we’ll give it trial run. A day or two, and we’ll see.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Castiel looked up when they entered the room, and he instantly rose to his feet. He shoved at his hair, trying to make it behave, and stood with his shoulders square, as if facing a military tribunal. His direct blue gaze met John’s. “Mr. Winchester.”

“John.” Dean’s father moved over to shake Castiel’s hand, which he awkwardly returned, the social custom clearly unfamiliar to him. “And you’re Cas.”

“Yes. Cas.” He glanced at Dean. “Or Castiel.”

“Unusual name. Where are you from?”

“Um. Through the woods.”

“A few miles’ walk,” Dean put in. “It’s in the mountains. A small village.”

John’s eyebrows climbed. “Really?”

Dean decided to change the subject. “Man, those pizzas smell good. I’m starving. How about you guys?”

Sammy loped to the table. He was always starving. Castiel stood apart, looking awkward.

John said, “What’s wrong, Cas?”

“I...I’m used to working for food. I...I don’t want to take it without...”

Dean said, “Your money’s no good here. Come on. Let’s eat.”

John continued to give Castiel a strange look as the other boy slowly slid into the chair at the table. When they all sat down, and each had piled several slices of pizza on their plates, John said, “What sort of work do you do, Castiel?”

“Farm. Tend crops and the animals.” He glanced at Dean. “Pump water.”

“I didn’t know there were farms around here.”

“Just Cas’s family’s. Hey, Cas. Want more milk?” Dean retrieved the milk jug without waiting for an answer.

John didn’t drop the conversation. “And you pump water. You don’t have running water?”

“No, sir.” Cas lifted a slice of pizza to his lips and took a bite. His eyes widened, and then closed in clear ecstasy. Slowly, he chewed it.

John cast Dean a look, one eyebrow raised. Dean said nothing. Thankfully, John changed the subject and asked how they’d spent the day.

Later, as they ate bowls of ice cream, Dean enjoyed watching Castiel savor every bite.

John said, “Your friend is appreciative. Of everything.”

“Yes.” Dean didn’t elaborate, but smiled when Cas carefully cleaned the bottom of his bowl and licked the spoon.

“The kid’s too thin,” John muttered.

Dean didn’t answer. He figured the less said, the better. If he told his father about Cas’s other world, no telling how John would respond. Probably forbid Dean to ever return. Worse, he might never rent this cabin again. Dean couldn’t risk that. For now, he’d operate under the plan of giving John as little information as possible.

Cas looked tired shortly after the sky darkened, but he didn’t say anything about it. The four of them played Uno. John seemed to think a nontechnology evening might be best for Cas.

Castiel clenched his jaw, fighting another yawn.

“Why don’t you turn in, Cas?” John said, and glanced at Dean. “Give him an extra T-shirt and shorts, Dean, if he needs them.” Although Dean had said nothing about Castiel’s meager belongings, his father must have put together the facts on his own. After all, Cas wore Dean’s clothes right now.

Castiel slowly trailed Dean down the hall, clearly reluctant to take more of Dean’s belongings. Dean pulled an old soft T-shirt and dark blue sweat shorts from a drawer, and tossed them on his bed. “’Night, Cas.”

Cas lifted the soft shirt. “Good night, Dean. And thank you.” The sincerity in his eyes hurt. Why the guy felt he didn’t deserve clothes, food, and basic human kindness clawed at something inside Dean, renewing his gut level desire to set the Rowleys straight on a few important matters. Preferably physically.

He left the room, drawing the door closed behind him. Then he remembered something and pushed it back open. “Oh, if you want to brush your teeth, there’s an extra...” He stopped short. Castiel had stripped off his shirt, and his back faced Dean. Innumerable red welts arced across his upper back, and his lower back looked like minced hamburger.

“Damn it to _hell,_ Cas!” Dean was halfway across the room before he realized what he was doing. “What happened to you?”

Castiel turned around, and his blue eyes looked dark and haunted. “It’s nothing, Dean.”

“The _hell_ it’s nothing! _Damn_ _it_ , Cas. Did Rowley do that to you?” Stupid question. Of course he had.

“What’s going on?” John spoke from the doorway.

Dean looked at his father, his jaw rigid with anger. John’s eyes narrowed; clearly seeing the red arcs on Castiel’s stomach, too. Quietly, John said, “Turn around, Cas.”

Castiel sent Dean a wretched look, but obeyed. Dean drew another harsh breath when he again saw the mangled mess that was Cas’s back. The marks were dark pink, some with red streaks. Clearly inflicted within the last several weeks. Probably less, considering how fast the water healed. Of course, Cas hadn’t drunk water during four of those days.

“Did your father do this to you, son?” John’s voice sounded much too calm.

Castiel didn’t answer.

“It’s complicated, Dad.”

“Did his _father_ do this to him, Dean?” His hard voice demanded the truth. The full truth.

“No.” Dean reluctantly admitted. “He’s an orphan. He lives on a farm. The Rowleys are his guardians. He works for them. _Slaves_ for them is more like it.”

Castiel hung his head, and slipped on the blue T-shirt. He faced them again. “I defied them,” he said quietly.

“Don’t feel ashamed,” Dean said forcefully. “You tried to save a little girl’s life. And after they beat you, you saved her anyway.”

Sam stood in the doorway. “You saved someone’s life, Cas?”

“Ana’s.”

John nodded. “That’s admirable. But _that,_ ” he said through thinned lips, “is not a beating. It looks like your guardian tried to kill you, son.”

Dean felt a little better to know his father was on his side. “Now you understand why he can’t go home. He needs to stay here.”

“I understand that I need to call the police.” A drastic measure, for John preferred to avoid the police at all costs. His face adorned wanted posters in several different states.

“No, Dad,” Sam said. “You can’t!”

“Why the hell not? Or child protective services. How old are you, Castiel?”

“Sixteen,” Cas said in a small voice.

“Same as me,” Dean said. “We have the same birthday.” John looked at Dean for a long moment, and then at Castiel. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. “And you can’t call the police, Dad. It won’t help.”

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated.”

John pulled out his cell phone. “Uncomplicate it. Or I’m calling, right now.”

Dean looked at Castiel, who gave a small nod. Cas sat on the bed and sat very still, as if waiting for a guillotine to drop on his neck.

“Dad, you know we’ve seen some crazy ass...stuff,” Dean began. John waited. “Cas is... Well, he’s from a different world.” He slowly explained the story. Castiel expanded with a few quiet points, and Sam threw in his opinion that while Ana was a precocious punk, she didn’t deserve to die.

“And so the well water heals. Cas needs it, or he’ll die of thirst. And the Rowleys may or may not know it. Either way, they’re exploiting him. We’re giving them time to work the farm on their own for a while. To get a taste of life without Cas. Then he can come back in a position of power, and demand his rights. And if I need to put the fear of God into them, or shoot them, all the better.”

John looked at Castiel. “Even if they agreed to your demands, would they keep their word?”

He contemplated the question for a long moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

“You need protection,” Dean said. “I swear that Echna must be a witch. We could put up horseshoes in your new house. Put salt at the doors and windows. Keep out the bitch.”

Castiel glanced at John, as if wanting to know if this might work.

John said, “You need more information, Dean. Find out if they’re demonic, or using witchcraft. Facts are the only way to protect Castiel.”

Dean blinked a little. “You mean you’d let us fix this on our own?”

“Without Sammy. Yes, Dean. You’re old enough. And I have a pretty good guess that the gateway probably only works for you and Cas, or maybe people under a certain age.”

“You’ve heard of a gateway like this before?”

John sighed. “I’ve heard of a lot, Dean. Castiel needs to stay here until at least Wednesday or Thursday to heal up. Then go. Even if I wanted to go then, I can’t. I’ve got a meeting in three days. I won’t be back until the day before we leave. Take guns, wooden stakes and silver knives. I have confidence in you, son. Sammy can stay with a neighbor.”

“That’s bogus!” Sam wailed. “Man! Why do I have to miss all the fun?”

John turned toward the door. “Thank you for telling me the truth, boys. And Cas. Maybe try to put some of that magic water on your wounds. It might prevent scarring. ’Night. Sammy, come on.”

Sam mumbled, but followed. Dean shut the door behind them, and sat on the bed opposite from Cas. “Is all of this okay with you? We haven’t exactly asked for your opinion.”

“I appreciate everything that you and your father are doing for me, Dean.” Castiel’s gaze looked troubled. “But I don’t want to drag you into my problems. I’ll be fine. I can handle them.”

“We’ll handle them _together_.” Dean’s tone came out harsher than he had intended.

Cas looked down. “I wish I didn’t ever have to go back.”


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel could tell that his friend’s gruff tone and prior harsh words were his way of showing that he cared. Now Dean said, “I wish you didn’t have to go back, either. More than anything. I wish you could stay with us. It would be awesome.”

“Awesome.” A small smile lifted Castiel’s lips. “Yes, it would be awesome.”

Another pause elapsed. Dean swiped his palms against his jeans. “I hate to bring this up, but how did Rowley get the jump on you? You had a run-in with him in December, right, and you escaped? Why not this time? How could that old man beat you so bad?”

Castiel swallowed. Humiliation and wild anger trembled through him, as he remembered afresh the feeling of being helpless. Of being unable to fight back.

“I think they planned it. I’d made demands in December. And I did it again a week ago, for Ana. They wanted to stop me from trying to force their hand. Ty wanted to show me that they’re in charge, once and for all. They both attacked me. Echna tied my hands to the well, and tied something around my feet. I couldn’t move. It was so _fast_. And the ropes...this will sound strange, but they seemed...alive.”

“Alive? What do you mean?”

“They were black, but almost seemed...transparent. They writhed, like snakes, and tightened when I struggled. I remember thinking I couldn’t tell where Echna’s fingers and her black clothes left off, and the ropes began.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised. “Demonic ropes?”

“I don’t know. I just know I couldn’t move. I couldn’t escape. I didn’t cry for mercy. I didn’t ask them to stop. Echna told me to beg, but I wouldn’t.” His voice caught in a gravel rasp. “I refused.”

Dean swallowed, his eyes dark with anger, and compassion, too. “You did right the right thing. You didn’t let them break you.”

He whispered, “I _am_ broken, Dean.”

“Stop it.” Dean grabbed his shoulder, and held it in a tight, reassuring grip. “You’re safe. And you’ll stay that way. We’ll make sure of it. Together.”

Castiel nodded. He wanted to believe it, but didn’t. Not really. “I’m tired. I think I’ll give your father’s idea a try. I’ll put water on the wounds.”

“Stay here. I’ll get a wash cloth.”

Castiel pulled off the shirt again, and when Dean returned with the soft, fluffy green square, Cas dipped in the water, squeezed it out, and then lay down flat on his stomach. “Please lay the cloth over the worst part, Dean.”

“What am I, Florence Nightingale now?” Despite his brusque tone, Dean gently lay the cloth across Castiel’s lower back. “That okay?”

“Thank you.” Castiel turned his head to look at his friend, who looked down at him with a frown. It looked a whole lot like concern. “For everything.”

A smile tipped his lips. “’Night, Cas.” Quietly, he left the room and flipped off the light.

Castiel meant to move the wash cloth to a new portion of his back after a few minutes, but he fell asleep too quickly.

*****

When Castiel woke up the next morning, he felt deliciously, bonelessly rested, and at peace, for the first time in...perhaps forever. Even his lower back, which had been burning and itching for the entire last week, felt cool and...healed. The washcloth on his back had dried, and he pulled it off—carefully, though, since every movement since the beating still caused him pain. He ran the backs of his fingers over his lower back. The skin felt smooth.

His fingers trailed to the side, where the washcloth had ended, and felt bumpy skin and little stings of pain.

The well water had worked. It had healed his skin from the outside in.

Castiel heard muffled movements on the other side of the room, and moved his chin across the pillow to see Dean tugging on a long-sleeved over shirt. Dean offered a small, crooked smile when he saw Cas looking at him. “Morning, sunshine.” He pulled on a boot.

“Good morning, Dean.” Castiel smiled. “The well water worked.”

“What?” Dean practically tripped on his unlaced boot as he strode over. “Let’s see.” He stopped and stared for a moment at Castiel’s naked back. “Amazing. You’ve got a washcloth-sized, healed patch of skin.” He huffed a little laugh. “This is awesome!”

Castiel rolled over and sat up. “Perhaps tonight I’ll lay a larger towel on my back.”

“Good plan. After breakfast, wanna go for a ride? I could show you the countryside.”

Castiel wondered what sort of “ride” Dean meant. “Of course. I would like that.”

He grinned. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? But you’re in for a treat. Promise.”

John and Sam greeted Castiel in the kitchen a little later, and he eagerly fell on the delicious eggs, bacon and toast. He inhaled the food, and felt guilty for it. After all, he’d done nothing to earn his keep here. All the same, his starving body ruled his head, and he took the last buttered piece of toast from the platter when John shoved it toward him.

Castiel swallowed. “Thank you.” It seemed so inadequate, those two words. He felt like he owed everything to Dean and his family. They’d given him food, clothes, and a safe place to sleep last night. He felt _cared_ for. He felt happy. And he didn’t feel like he deserved it. He wanted to pay back their kindness, and earn his keep, but he didn’t know how. He had nothing to give.

After breakfast, John left the cabin, promising to return in time to bring them to the mountain dance at the hall that evening. Dean led Cas and Sam outside to a building beside the main cabin, and he rolled up a giant door. A black shape hunkered inside.

Dean smiled, and ran a gentle hand over the black beast. “My baby.”

Sam rolled his eyes and told Cas, “Dean got the Impala for his birthday. He’s in love. That’s what his moony look is about.”

Dean opened the black beast’s door and gestured for Cas to enter. He slid in, feeling the smooth seat slide against the fabric of his jeans. Today he wore another of Dean’s shirts—a green one, this time.

It smelled nice inside the Impala; of leather and other, faint chemical smells he didn’t recognize. Sam slid into the back seat. Dean slammed the door on the other side of the car and tenderly curled his hands around the round wheel attached to the vehicle. It must be a vehicle, for Castiel had seen the wheels.

Bewildered, he said, “Where are the horses or oxen to pull your vehicle, Dean?”

Dean laughed, and pushed a serrated metal key into a silver lock beneath the wheel column. He patted the dash. “All the horses live in here.” He turned the key, and a low, throaty rumble shook the Impala. It sounded like grumbling thunder.

Without warning, the vehicle rolled backwards, and Castiel gasped. Dean backed onto the driveway, and then suddenly they rolled forward, faster and faster down the driveway. Stones crunched and trees flew by.

“You’ll get your license revoked,” Sam said from the back seat. “And, you know, driving without an adult in the car is illegal...”

“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean turned a knob on the dash and music belted into the car.

Castiel could do little but gape. Finally, he managed weakly, “How many horses live inside your vehicle, Dean? They are very fast.”

Dean laughed. “It’s an engine, Cas. Not real horses. It’s mechanical. The car runs on gas.”

He remembered reading about cars in his dictionary. Riding in one was very different than reading about it. Dean turned onto a black ribbon of smooth road, and accelerated. The cool scent of pine slid into the car.

Dean ran a reverent hand over the wheel. “My baby purrs like a kitten.”

Sam gagged in the backseat. “Get a room, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Castiel smiled and looked outside, feeling the wind ruffle his hair. There was something exhilarating about speeding through the pungent forest, with the rhythmic, energizing music pulsing through his veins, and a content, peaceful grin plastered on Dean’s face. It felt an awful lot like bliss.

They sped through town, and spent the next several hours touring the beautiful countryside. “Port Angeles is that way,” Dean said, pointing east. “And over there are the Olympic Mountains.”  The mountains loomed far overhead, capped with white snow. Castiel had never seen such a beautiful sight.

Eventually, Dean turned back around and they stopped in the little town located near the cabin.

“Look!” Sam’s excited voice made Cas look over his shoulder. Sam’s nose was plastered to the glass. “The library is open! Let’s stop.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “How about an ice cream cone, Sammy? Sound good?”

“Can we stop by the library after?”

Dean groaned. “Okay, kid, but fifteen minutes max. Don’t kill me, here.”

A few minutes later, the three exited from the ice cream shop. Castiel licked dark chocolate and raspberry smears from his fingers, for he’d accidently mashed them into the cold ball of ice cream while taking the cone. _Mmm._ It was delicious. He didn’t think he’d ever tasted anything so sweet and tangy in his life. It tasted so _good_. He murmured again, deep in his throat, and Dean sent him a quick look. His eyebrow lifted, and he gave a funny little smile.

Castiel closed his eyes and licked the cone, blindly following Sam, who’d taken off down the street in the direction of a small building with the words “Library” written out front in silver letters.

“No food inside, Sam,” Dean said. “Hold up.”

Sam perched on a grey block wall and enthusiastically took great bites out of his cone. He’d already licked the top flat, and now he bit chunks out of the sugar cone beneath.

Castiel leaned back against the stone block, too, next to Dean, and watched cars and people pass by as he carefully licked his cone, determined not to lose a single drop of the melting ice cream. Once, a drop trickled down his finger and to his inner wrist, and he quickly lapped it up, humming with delight.

“Cas.” Dean’s ears were a bit red at the tips. “Man.”

“What?” He did not understand why Dean had such a peculiar look on his face.

“Just, uh...” He gave a short laugh. “Never mind.”

Cas stared blankly at him. More ice cream dripped onto his fingers. Dean gazed into his eyes, half smiling, half looking a little...awkward? Cas couldn’t quite tell what was going on. “Dean?”

“Nothin.’ Go on. Take your time.” But Dean ate his cone as if he meant business. Sam had already finished his, and currently zipped up to the library doors.

“Go with Sam, if you’d like,” Cas urged. “I’ll be fine here.”

“Nah. No hurry. I’ll wait with you. Sam’s the book man. Not me.”

Castiel did eat faster, though, for he didn’t like separating the brothers. Besides, he wanted to know what Sam found so appealing about the library. Finally, he wiped his mouth with the little paper napkin, found a metal trash can and followed Dean to the building. When Dean pulled open the doors, a small sound left Castiel’s lungs. The scent of paper filled his nose, and books...books were everywhere.

Dean looked over his shoulder. His lips twitched into a rueful smile. “You’re stopping traffic. Come on, Cas.”

Numbly, Castiel stepped forward. He looked around, open mouthed. “All of these _books_!”

Dean grinned. “Knock yourself out. I have a library card. Check out all you want. It’s free. We just have to return them in a few weeks.”

Castiel wandered the library in a daze. He had no idea what he’d like to read. No, actually he wanted to read everything.

“How about the second Lord of the Rings book?” Dean suggested, at his elbow.

“Yes,” he said eagerly, and reverently took the book Dean handed him. Dean slid another book onto the first one. A smirk twisted his lips, and Castiel read the title, “Hansel and Gretel.”

“I think you’ll relate to that one, buddy.”

Sam joined them, clutching a book on Greek mythology. “The library book sale is open. Wanna check it out?”

Dean glanced at Castiel, who cradled the two books in his hands as if they were something precious. “I have a better idea. Let’s go to the bookstore.”

Sam gaped. “Since when...”

“Shutit, Sam. Okay?” Dean roughly took the books from Sam and Castiel, and brought them to the check out girl, whom he gave a roguish grin. She dimpled immediately.

“You know, sir, we do have self-check out...” But she was already accepting a shiny plastic card from Dean. With a smile, she ran the books over a glass panel imbedded in the counter.

Dean grinned at her. “I prefer the personal touch. Hey, you going to the dance tonight?”

A flirtatious smile touched her lips. “I’ll be there.”

Dean accepted the books back. “Maybe I’ll see you then...?”

“Megan.”

“Megan.” Dean’s grin widened, and he swaggered away from the counter.

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled a face at his older brother. “You’re a hornball.”

“And you’re a bitch. So we’re even.” Dean strode out of the library.

Castiel looked from the girl to Dean again, and followed the brothers out of the library. He wasn’t very worldly-wise, but it seemed pretty obvious that Dean liked the girl, and was looking forward to seeing her at the dance tonight. The dance that Castiel had managed to forget about until now. A sinking feeling filled his gut. The very idea of being surrounded by complete strangers, and expected to behave in ways he had no idea what might be _normal_...it made a hard knot form in his stomach.

Sam elbowed through the swinging door of a store named “Cozy Corner. New and Used Books.”

The bell rang behind them as the door closed, and the smell of old, fine paper filled Castiel’s nostrils.

“What book would you like, Cas?” Dean said.

Castiel looked at Dean in complete surprise. Dean had chosen to come to this store—a store he’d never visit on his own, if Sam’s reaction was anything to go by—for him.

“I would like a Bible,” he said softly. “But...”

Dean followed Sam to the section entitled “Religion.” “Pick the one you want, Cas.”

He knew this wasn’t a rental book shop, like the library. “But I can’t pay. I have no money.”

Dean gave him a small smile, pain in his eyes. “This is on me.”

“But...”

“I missed your birthday. This is my present to you.”

Castiel hesitated. “Then I will find the perfect gift for you, too, Dean.” A smile touched his lips. He had the perfect idea. He just needed to find some bark, or paper. Sam might be able to help him find what he needed.

Dean shook his head. “Not necessary.” He also gripped another book in his hand, title obscured by his fingers, and he gave both to the store-keeper. Castiel guessed the other book was for Dean himself, but he didn’t have a chance to look at the title before it disappeared into a white, crinkly bag. Dean grabbed it and headed out the door. “I’ll give it to you later,” he said, a little gruffly.

Back in the Impala, they sped back to the cabin, which already felt like home. After lunch, Dean disappeared outside to polish his “baby,” and Castiel tentatively suggested his plan for Dean’s birthday gift to Sam. The younger Winchester grinned, and jumped on the idea with a suspicious amount of enthusiasm.

He grabbed a slim, small rectangular device called a “phone” and beckoned with one finger for Castiel to follow him out the back door. Dean’s brother snuck around the side of the building and peered around the corner. With a grin, Sam lifted the phone and touched a button on the screen.

“Go over there, Cas,” he urged. “I’ll get a photo of you, Dean, and his baby.”

Castiel flipped through his mental dictionary and found short definitions for a “photo” and “phone.” Neither was clear enough for complete understanding, but he suspected they were as wonderful and beyond description as Dean’s car. He rounded the building to where Dean sprayed the Impala with a long green hose.

“Cas! Just in time,” Dean greeted him. The faucet squeaked when he turned it off, and he tossed Cas one of the beige towels lying on a huge log, which lay in large, cut sections beside the garage. “Dry her off, nice and gentle.” Dean gently swiped the towel over the hood to demonstrate. Tenderly, he rubbed it in a circular motion.

Castiel was sure he heard a snort come from Sam’s direction. Dean _did_ have a moony look on his face right now, and cooed under his breath to the black machine. Cas slowly swiped his towel over the passenger window and door. Gently, he blotted the remaining drops and carefully slid the soft towel over the finish.

“That’s the way.” Dean grinned at him, and Castiel grinned back. The car felt smooth and slippery under his fingers, and warm from the sun. The fresh pine air filled his senses, and the sun toasting his skin warmed him, filling him with a glow of happiness. “That’s right. Treat her like your best lady,” Dean murmured, and moved to the front bumper.

Sam crept closer, rolling his eyes comically. Castiel fought the laugh swelling up in his chest, but failed. It burst out in a chuckle.

“What?” Dean looked up, surprised, but still smiling. And then he followed Castiel’s gaze and noticed Sam snapping photos with his phone. “Hey, you little douche...!”

Sam laughed, and ran up the porch steps. He disappeared inside the house.

John appeared in the late afternoon and admired the Impala, but then he said, “Did you forget the log that needs chopping, Dean? If we want a fire, that wood needs to be cut up.” He told Cas, “The cabin’s owners say the cabin comes with firewood. But the truth is, they leave a log for the renters. No one wants to chop it up.”

“Tomorrow, Dad,” Dean promised. “Right now, we need to get ready for the dance.”

“Hurry up. It starts in twenty minutes.”

*****

Castiel sat on his bed in their shared bedroom, and watched Dean pull on a black T-shirt and then a tailored, moss-colored long-sleeved shirt. Dean disappeared into the hall, and when he returned, his hair looked wet, and carefully mussed and spiked up to look casual. He looked handsome. Castiel looked down at his own green T-shirt and jeans and felt another queasy stab of unease.

“Dean,” he said hesitantly, “I think I’ll stay here tonight...”

A dark blue shirt hit the side of his head. “No take backs.”

“But Dean, I won’t fit in. Really...”

“Put the shirt on. The girls will take one look at you—in that blue shirt with those blue eyes—and you’ll have to beat them off with a stick.”

The thought terrified Castiel, and Dean must have noticed, for his smirk softened. “Hey man, it’ll be fine. Promise. You’ll have fun.”

Castiel swallowed, and stood. He had promised he’d go, after all. “Okay,” he said quietly.

“See you at the car. Dad says he got a quart of potato salad, so hurry. He doesn’t want it to go bad.” Dean disappeared into the hallway.

Castiel stripped off the green tee, and pulled on the soft blue shirt. Tiny blue buttons frustrated his fingers for a few minutes, until he got the hang of them. Sam poked his head in the room when Castiel had finished buttoning it. Cas stood awkwardly, not sure if he looked all right.

“Tuck it in,” Sam advised, and ducked into Dean’s closet. He emerged with a black belt. “Thread it through the loops. It’ll look good.”

Castiel followed the younger boy’s directions, and looked at himself in the mirror over the dresser. He barely recognized the dark-haired boy staring back. His eyes looked intensely blue, and his shoulders defined and square, and hips narrow.

Dean poked his head back into the room. “Hurry up.” His gaze flicked down Castiel’s body, and for a split second he paused, as if taken off guard. Then his lips tugged up into a suggestive smirk. “Hot damn, Cas. You’ll give me competition tonight.”

His cheeks warmed. “I have no desire to compete with you, Dean.”

“We’ll get you a girl,” he promised, heading back down the hall. “Count on it.”

Castiel wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Honestly, he didn’t particularly want a girl. He felt scared enough about entering the unfamiliar social situation, without the added pressure of trying to behave like someone who knew what he was doing with a girl. Stark terror barely described the feeling shredding through his gut.

*****

Cars crammed the streets around the dance hall, which turned out to be the gymnasium of the local high school. People of all ages filed into the old building, carrying covered dishes and platters. Dean bumped Castiel’s elbow as they entered the building and muttered, “Besides girls, the food is the best part of this shindig.”

Castiel enjoyed the first part of the evening. He piled a sturdy paper plate high with chicken, potatoes, vegetables and gravy, and returned for seconds. And then he tried a few desserts. The four of them sat at a table with a young couple with a baby, and an older couple, too. Castiel’s first impulse was to ignore the older woman on his right. Unfortunately, older people brought to mind Echna and Ty.

Unexpected bile burned the back of his throat, thinking about his guardians, and he coughed.

“Are you all right?” the woman asked, a concerned frown wrinkling into her delicate-looking skin. Compared to Echna’s leathery skin and thick, insensitive nature, this woman looked fragile. She wore her fine white hair in a bun, and glasses perched on her nose. She’d earlier introduced herself as Alice.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Haven’t seen you around here before.” She offered a small smile. “Here on holiday?”

“Yes.” Castiel gradually found himself warming up to the elderly woman, and her husband was nice, too. They reminded him a little of James and Hazel, and so he relaxed a little more.

When it grew dark, Castiel helped Dean and the other men fold up the tables and roll them away, and transferred most of the chairs to rolling carts. Alice and most of the older people left, and the music, which had been playing all night, abruptly increased in volume. The lights dimmed, and for the first time he noticed the glittering balls hanging from the ceiling. They shot sparkles of light around the room.

“Now we’re cookin,’” Dean grinned. “Come on. I’ve got an eye on a couple of beauties.”

Castiel reluctantly followed Dean. The sick feeling from earlier returned, due to both the pressure to perform “normally,” and his uncertainty in his social abilities. Talking to older people was one thing, but people his own age expected more. Something different. Something he wasn’t sure he felt ready to give.

Dean stopped beside Megan, the girl from the library. Her blond hair swished about her chin, and she smiled up at him. “I see you showed up.”

His appreciative, return grin curled at the corners, looking a little predatory. “And I brought my friend, Cas.”

Megan looked Castiel up and down, and she smiled with apparent approval. His cheeks warmed. “Gloria!” Megan waved to a curvy girl with red ringlets. Gloria sauntered over, her gaze devouring Castiel like a hungry cat.

“Well, hello there,” she purred, and extended her hand. Castiel shook it, but she held onto it when he tried to let go. “Wanna dance, tiger?”

Castiel swallowed. “Well...”

Dean clapped him on the back. “Sure you do, buddy.” He winked, and twirled off with Megan.

Castiel’s ears burned as Gloria pulled him onto the dance floor. She gyrated much too close to him. Castiel tried to mimic Dean’s moves, but he felt awkward and uncomfortable. The others on the floor looked like they enjoyed exhibiting and flaunting their bodies and moving in sinuous, feline ways. He was sure he looked stiff, like a tree, but he did his best. When the dance ended, he drew a sigh of relief. To his surprise and dismay, another girl elbowed Gloria out of the way, and took her spot. She put her hand on Cas’s arm, preventing his escape.

“Hey there. I’m Winter.” The dark-haired girl eyed him. “You’re pretty, with those blue eyes. Why haven’t I seen you before?” She turned her head, apparently zeroing in on Dean bobbing with Megan a short distance away. She shouted above the music, “Winchester! Been keeping him to yourself?”

Dean laughed, but Castiel felt bewildered by her question. The girl saw the look on his face and laughed. She grabbed his hand and dragged him deeper into the crush of bodies, where she pressed her body against him. She slid her hands up and down his back. When her hand dipped below his belt, he jumped back, his face feeling as hot as a furnace. “Ex...excuse me,” he mumbled, barely able to think, except for the need to escape from her surprisingly strong, clinging embrace.

Castiel practically ran to the side of the room. Ahead, an open door let in the cold night breeze, and he escaped outside. He leaned against the building, breathing hard, and deeply upset. His skin crawled where she had touched him. He didn’t know the girl, and yet she’d been touching him in ways... He shuddered. He didn’t want a stranger touching him like that. It wasn’t right.

“Cas? Buddy?” Dean appeared in the open doorway, and looked right and then left, until he spotted him. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t fit in here.” Castiel bit his lip.

“Winter’s a little...enthusiastic.”

“She made me feel uncomfortable,” Castiel said stiffly. “She touched me like...like only someone who knows me, and loves me should. It felt wrong. I’m sorry, Dean. I can’t do this.”

He eyed him for a long moment, and then said, “Maybe another girl; one who’s not so pushy...”

“No,” Castiel said sharply. “Thank you for bringing me here. But no.” He pushed away from the wall. “I’m going to find Sam.”

“He’s shooting hoops out on the playground.” Dean gestured in the general direction.

Cas nodded, and left his friend behind. He felt Dean watching him, and was sorry that he’d disappointed his friend. But something inside Castiel still trembled, and he walked quickly to the shouting and the sounds of high spirited laughing up ahead. Something told him he’d feel more comfortable with Sam than inside that dance hall.


	16. Chapter 16

Dean enjoyed the dance a lot less after Cas disappeared outside to shoot hoops with Sam and his friends. Of course, Dean had seen Winter crawling all over Cas, and while the sight had made something clench tight in his chest, he’d hoped Cas would enjoy it—but instead, Castiel’s look of terror and revulsion, as if he’d been raped, made Dean feel sick.

After Cas escaped outside, Winter tried to get her dance on with Dean, but he side-stepped out of her path. Instead, he grabbed a random girl’s hand and asked her to dance. The silent, cold shoulder was better than speaking the angry words roiling in his gut.

Dean now leaned against the wall, alone, and watched Castiel follow Sam inside.

“Surprised you’re finished dancing already,” his father said, suddenly beside him.

“Yeah. Think I’m done for the night.”

“Castiel didn’t care for the dancing, did he?” John sent Dean an unreadable look.

“Winter groped his ass. He’s so innocent. It shocked him and _really_ upset him. The bitch.” But really Dean blamed himself. He should have done a better job watching over his friend. “Cas needs a sweet girl, but I didn’t find one. I should have looked harder.”

“I think it’s more than that,” John said. “I don’t think Cas is ready for this...uh, _dance_.”

Dean eyed Cas, hanging out with Sam and his friends. “Yeah. He’s never had a chance to be a kid. Maybe Sam is what he needs right now.”

Castiel turned to look at him, as if sensing Dean’s eyes on him, and gazed back, his expression solemn.

When Dean realized he was staring, he cleared his throat and looked away.

John said, “Cas is different, Dean. I don’t think he’ll ever quite fit in. He’ll never be...you.”

“I don’t want him to be me! He’s...well, he’s awesome, just the way he is.”

John gave him a look he couldn’t quite decipher. “Next time, choose an activity you, Sam and Cas can enjoy together.” He smiled. “And I have an idea. Tomorrow, I’m taking you boys to the sporting goods store. We need more rounds, and maybe an extra knife or two. You and Sam could use a few shirts, too. Better yet, the gun you’ve been eyeing is in stock.”

Excitement charged through Dean. “And the price?”

“If I help out a little, you’ll make it.”

“Awesome!”

They left the dance shortly afterward. Dean noticed that Castiel’s shoulders relaxed as soon as they entered the cold, clear night air.

Sam chattered most of the way home, and hogged the bathroom first. While Dean retreated to their room to strip and pull on his PJs, Castiel stayed in the living room with John. When Dean headed back to the living area, he heard his father say quietly, “Dean said Winter groped you. That upset you, didn’t it?” He stopped in the hallway, reluctant to interrupt the conversation.

Castiel nodded. His ears reddened and he looked down. “I...I’m not ready.”

“Although I don’t think Winter meant to hurt you,” John said, “what she did was inappropriate. You have no reason to feel bad, or embarrassed for wanting to escape from an uncomfortable situation.”

Castiel’s hands twisted together. Quietly, he said, “Thank you.”

“Has anyone ever talk to you about the birds and the bees?” At Castiel’s confused look, he clarified, “Sex.”

His whole face turned red. “I live on a farm, so I understand the biology. I just don’t understand the social...dance.”

“When you’re ready, it’ll all make sense.” John sent him a look of compassion—a look Dean had seldom seen on his father’s face. “Be patient with yourself. You’re fine, just the way you are. Dean tends to rush in. He’s a little headstrong. I wish some of your level head could rub off on him.”

Dean barely muffled a snort, but Castiel’s bright, relieved smile made him swallow it back entirely.

John clapped a hand on Cas’s shoulder and stood. “We’re going shopping tomorrow. I’m buying you some clothes.”

“What? But Mr. Winchester....”

“John. And don’t argue. I can afford it, and I want to do it. Make sure Dean’s up by nine, or we’re leaving him behind.”

Dean raised a brow as his father passed him in the hall. John only smiled. “’Night, son.”

Cas retreated to the bathroom. A few minutes later, while Dean ate a handful of potato chips to fill his already rumbling stomach, he heard Cas and Sam murmuring in the back room.

“’Night, Cas,” Sam called a few minutes later. His brother poked his head around the corner to the kitchen and added, “’Night, Dean.”

“’Night, Sammy.” Dean took his time in the bathroom, and finally entered their shared bedroom, expecting the light to be out, and Cas to be asleep in bed. Instead, the lights blazed, and several sodden towels lay on a garbage bag at Castiel’s feet. A thick towel lay on his bed. Cas wore no shirt, but he still wore jeans. The angry welts on his back stood out against his smooth, pale skin, under which muscles rippled.

Dean moved closer. “What are you doing?”

Cas looked over his shoulder. His blue eyes looked dark, and his body language matched his hesitant tone. “I know you would prefer not to do the work of a healer, Dean. But...would you help me? Please.”

He felt bad that Cas felt reluctant to ask for his help. “Of course, man. No problem. Tell me what to do.”

A small, relieved smile appeared. “I’d like the wet towels to cover my back. But it’s hard to do it myself. Would you help me?”

“Sure.” Dean’s voice unexpectedly came out a bit rough, and he cleared his throat. “Sure. Lie down. I got you.”

Cas lay on his stomach on the bed, and Dean picked up the first sodden towel. He noticed that one of Cas’s water buckets was empty, and the other was half gone. How long would it last? “Where do you want this first one?”

“Across my back, and I’d like to tuck it around my stomach, too.”

Dean draped the wet tan towel over Castiel’s back, and Cas moved up on his elbows, causing a small rustle beneath the towel he lay on. Sam must have given him another garbage bag to protect the bed from the wet cloths. Cas tucked the end of the towel beneath him, around his lacerated stomach, and lay flat again.

Dean didn’t need instructions for the hand towel. He lay it across Cas’s upper back and his slashed, right upper arm. One hand towel remained, for Castiel’s lower back. The clear patch from this morning didn’t need it, but the areas around it did. Dean noticed that the red, angry mishmash of lines disappeared beneath the waistband of Cas’s jeans.

“Don’t you want to sleep in the sweat shorts?” Dean asked.

“They dig into my lower back. It burns. The jeans are looser.”

“Hate to tell you this, but...um...the marks go under the jeans.”

Cas slid his hands under his stomach. With a quick movement—unbuttoning the jeans—Dean realized, he folded back the waistband, so it lay mostly flat. The red skin ended in clear, healthy skin. Although the small band of skin revealed nothing scandalous, the gentle, creamy swell of Cas’s buttocks made something dry hitch in the back of Dean’s throat. He swallowed. What in the _hell_ was wrong with him?


	17. Chapter 17

“Hold still.” Although Dean’s voice sounded rough, the brush of his knuckles against Castiel’s skin felt unbearably gentle as he lay the last cold, wet cloth on his skin. An involuntary, full body shiver slid through Cas.

“Cold?”

“Yes.” Castiel’s gravelly voice sounded like the driveway beneath the Impala’s wheels.

“Sorry.” Dean cleared his throat. “That should do it.”

Cas turned his head. “Thank you.”

The tips of Dean’s ears looked pink. “Yeah. No problem. Hope you’re all healed up tomorrow.” He turned out the light and flopped onto his bed. After a while he said, “About the dance... Sorry, Cas.”

“You have no reason to be sorry. _You_ didn’t grope me.”

Dean laughed softly. “Yeah.”

“I had a good time. I’m glad I went. I needed to try something new.”

“You always put a positive spin on things, Cas.”

“I deeply appreciate you, Dean. And your family. And everything you’ve done for me.”

“But?”

“I’d like to stay here forever. But we both know that’s impossible. My water is getting low, and I’m almost completely healed. I think I should head home on the day your father leaves for his trip. The day after tomorrow.” Castiel didn’t want to go home. _Home._ It wasn’t a real home. Fear caught in his heart at the very idea of returning to the place where Ty and Echna could catch him again, and beat him. Perhaps to death this time.

“You’re _not_ going back,” Dean said harshly. “Not until we figure out how to protect you.”

“How?”

“We’ll go back on Wednesday and get you more water. And then we’ll watch the Rowleys. Figure out what’s really going on. Then we’ll know how to protect you.”

Dean seemed certain they could achieve these goals. Castiel fell silent. “I hope you’re right.”

“You’ll be all right, Cas. I promise.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” he said softly.

“’Night.”

*****

Castiel awoke just past dawn the next morning. Dean lay on the next bed, with his mouth open, softly snoring. Quietly, Cas pulled the damp towels off of his body, grabbed the T-shirt and jeans he’d worn the day before, and made quick use of the restroom. In the mirror, he saw that his back was completely healed. Only faint, shiny silver lines remained.

The entire cabin was silent. The scent of varnished wood mixed with the scent of pine needles that slid in through a cracked open window. Cas tied up his boots, and quietly let himself out the front door and into the cold morning. Sunlight peeked through the trees, and cold, crisp air made bumps rise on his skin. Overhead, birds chirped, and a squirrel ran across the driveway. He stood alone outside, and inhaled deeply. It was his favorite time of day, and for once, he was free from the farm. It felt like a little slice of heaven.

Castiel rolled up the garage door just enough to duck under, and found the axe he’d spotted yesterday. With a smile, he approached the giant log, lying in cut sections, beside the garage. He may not possess many skills, or this world’s money, but he did know how to chop wood. And he was glad he’d found one small way to repay the Winchesters for their kindness to him.

The axe felt comfortable in his work calloused hands, and his shoulder and arm muscles eased into the familiar, rhythmic swing of the axe. A few powerful strokes broke the first section of log in half, and after that, each stroke cut off another perfectly formed log for the fireplace.

The exercise felt good, and the burning, itching pain from his back had finally vanished. His back was healed. He felt healthy, strong and whole once more. The well water was a miracle, as John had said.

And that meant he must return home. _Tomorrow._

Castiel chopped harder, blocking the thought from his mind. Today was all he’d think about.

He razed through the first tree trunk section as fast as he’d eaten those five slices of pizza that first night. And as he finished each new section, he neatly piled the cut logs against the garage.

By the time he’d started in on the last section, the smell of bacon and eggs teased his nose. Breakfast. His stomach rumbled, eagerly anticipating the food that would soon fill the ache in his belly. Just being able to trust that he would receive the food he needed...it was a wonderful feeling. The most wonderful feeling in the world. Moisture stung his eyes, and he swiped at it with his sweat dampened forearm.

“Kid, you’re amazing.” John said from the porch, making him turn in surprise. “A powerhouse. I think it would take Dean and me a month of Sundays to chop that much wood.”

Castiel smiled. “Thank you, sir. I...I wanted to do something. And...well, I’m good at chopping wood.”

John smiled. “Thank you, son. We’ll have a fire tonight. Breakfast will be ready in a few.”

Castiel turned with renewed vigor to attack the last log section, and neatly split it into eight pieces, stacked it against the garage, and returned the axe inside the small building. He touched the smooth, black paint of the Impala and wondered if he’d get to ride in Dean’s car again today. He’d loved the feeling of freedom he’d experienced on the open road.

“Dean’s out of the shower,” John greeted him inside. “You have time for one too, if you’re quick.”

Dean gave Castiel a sleepy grin in their shared room, and finished pulling on his shirt. “You must be starving. Chopping a whole tree in less than hour is phenomenal, man. Here.” He tossed a clean white T-shirt on Cas’s bed.

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel took a quick shower, mindful that the food was almost ready, and then gathered up all of his dirty clothes and towels from the night before and shoved them in the washer and started it. John shot him an approving look as he put a sizzling skillet on a trivet on the counter.

Dean just shook his head and sent him a grin. “Making us look bad, Cas.”

“I need to contribute, Dean,” he said quietly, sliding into his customary chair at the table. “I have nothing else to give.”

Dean understood. Castiel could tell by his small smile, and Cas felt at peace as he tucked into the delicious breakfast.

*****

The day passed by much too fast. Castiel wanted to grab and savor each moment, but they slid by much too quickly—bright and warm and _happy_ —through his fingers. Dean drove his baby to the sporting goods store. There, he blissfully fondled the gun he wanted to buy while he asked the man behind the counter countless questions. Meanwhile, Sam and John inspected wicked looking knives.

Castiel again wondered what sort of animals the Winchesters hunted, but it seemed like a touchy subject with Dean, so he didn’t ask.

Soon, John told Sam to take Castiel to the men’s clothing department. He gave Dean’s brother a list on a piece of paper.

“Underwear, socks, T-shirts and a pair of jeans,” Sam announced. He took a quick look at Cas. “You’re about the same size as Dean. Medium shorts, large T-shirts...” He stopped in the underwear aisle. “What colors do you like?”

Castiel didn’t know how to respond. Until this moment, he hadn’t known underwear and socks came in different colors. “Sam, I really don’t need...”

“Dad’s in charge. Now choose what you want.” Sam held up several packaged pairs of boxer briefs. “Mickey Mouse or...”

Castiel took the earth-toned package, and white socks. And jeans that looked like Dean’s. And a package of plain white T-shirts. He felt like a glutton, seeing all of these items, just for _him_ , spilling out of the hand basket clenched in his fist. “Thank you. This is more than enough.”

Dean appeared at Cas’s side, and rifled through the basket’s contents. “Pretty utilitarian. Good. But you need some color. And long sleeved shirts. Come over here.”

Castiel’s feet slowly followed in his footsteps. “Dean, I don’t think your father...”

Dean shoved a dark blue, button-down shirt into his arms. “Get this. And a couple of tough work shirts. What do you think? Plaid? Grey?” He shoved both into the hand basket, making it overflow. “And we’re getting you another blanket. And a pillow, and a water bottle. You’ll need a duffel bag, too.”

Castiel was speechless by the time Dean finished picking the store clean. Even John looked a bit dumbfounded when Castiel’s mounded pile overflowed the counter and threatened to slide onto the floor. Finally, he found his tongue. “Mr. Winchester, Dean got a little carried away. Let me put back...”

“No!” Dean said sharply. “My gun was on sale, and I have extra cash. This is happening.”

“Dean...” Castiel said helplessly. “I can never repay you.”

“Knowing you’ll be warm, and wearing decent clothes is _all_ the thanks I need,” he growled. “Now say thanks, and enjoy it.”

Castiel blinked. Tears of gratitude burned his eyes. “Thank you,” he said softly.

John clapped him on the back. Compassion warmed his gaze. “We’re happy to do it, Cas.”

“Thank you.” Castiel swallowed. “Thank you very much.”

In the car on the way back home, Sam lovingly examined his new, wicked looking knife. Curved edges defined the lethal looking blade. “It’s made of iron,” he told Castiel, who held a fluffy white plastic bag of clothes on his lap. The blanket and pillow rode in the trunk. “Hey, I’ll show you how sharp this is. Take out the clothes. I’ll cut off the tags.”

Castiel pulled the clothes from the bag, and Sam carefully cut off tags and slid the sharp blade along the top plastic edge of the packaged underwear and socks. The boy handled the blade expertly, and Cas again wondered what sort of animals the Winchesters hunted.

Dean and John spoke together in the front seat, so Castiel said in a low voice, “Do you help with the hunts, too, Sam?”

Sam shrugged. “Hardly ever. Just a few easy jobs. Like checking out nests that are probably empty. That sort of thing.”

“Do you hunt birds?”

“Sam!” Dean said. “Put that knife away before you stab yourself in the eye. We’re almost home.”

“Jerk,” Sam muttered.

Castiel caught Dean’s eye in the mirror, and guessed Dean had interrupted because he didn’t want Sam talking about their hunting adventures. Once again, Dean’s reticence to speak about his family’s hunting trips struck Castiel as strange, but he stopped asking the younger Winchester questions. If he wanted answers, he’d ask Dean himself.

*****

After lunch, Sam loaned Castiel an old art sketchbook that he rarely used, and some charcoal pencils. Cas looked over the tiny pictures in Sam’s phone, marveling at the clear details of the magical photos, and selected the three he liked the best. A few had been taken earlier in the year, but they helped complete the story he wanted to tell with his sketches. Sam printed up the glossy, full color pictures of the Winchester family.

Even better, Sam also told Cas he could the keep the photos. Castiel could barely believe he could keep them, and reverently thanked Sam for the generous gift. The photos would help him remember the Winchesters’ faces clearly when he returned home. Over the months when he wouldn’t see his friends at all, he could remember what they looked like. He swallowed back a lump in his throat. He’d cherish the photos forever.

Castiel found a quiet place and went to work. Joy, derived from drawing the people he cared about most, made his pencil fly. He hoped Dean would like his gift, even though he’d given him a similar present last year. These new drawings were a gift from his heart; the only gift he could possibly give.

After he’d finished the sketches, and after eating dinner and helping out with the dishes—Dean washed while Castiel dried—he wrapped the birthday present in tissues and approached his best friend, who sat on the couch, sniping with Sam about which game controller worked best.

“Dean.” Castiel extended the gift. “This isn’t much, but late happy birthday.”

“What’s this?” Dean looked up in surprise. Carefully, he took the flimsily wrapped package and set it in his lap. He pulled off the tissue which lay on top. The sketches lay upside down, so Dean had turn each one over, one by one.

Castiel’s first sketch was of John, cleaning his gun. The next was Sam, shooting hoops. Spare strokes caught the essence of Sam’s joyful leap and his grin as the ball flew toward the basket. Dean smiled.

John looked over Dean’s shoulder. “Those are good, Cas.” He sounded surprised.

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

“John, for the last time.” His small smile indicated, in some way Cas couldn’t quite define, his approval of Castiel, and his final acceptance of him as a member of the family. It made him feel good inside.

However, Dean’s reaction to the last sketch was the one he craved to see the most.

Dean turned over the roughly textured parchment, and a quick grin pulled at his lips. He swallowed. “Cas. Thanks.”

Castiel again carefully eyed again the spare, bold strokes and careful shading he’d done to depict Dean shining up his baby. He had taken the most care with this sketch. Sam’s original photo included Castiel in the picture, too. In it, a smile pulled at Cas’s lips, and Dean laughed, as if he’d just teased him about something. Castiel had planned to subtract himself from the sketch, but Sam had insisted he draw himself in. “Sets the mood,” Sam had said. “Dean will love it.”

And Dean did seem to like it. His fingers gently ghosted over the black Impala, and then Castiel’s charcoal shoulder. “Yeah. I love this, Cas. Thank you.”

Pleased, and relieved, he said, “You’re welcome.”

Dean rose from the couch. “Almost forgot to give you your present, too.”

“But you already gave me the clothes today...”

Dean returned with the crinkly white bag from the used bookstore, and pushed it into his hand. “It isn’t much. Hope you like it.”

Castiel carefully withdrew the black Bible that he’d selected yesterday, and then the mysterious book Dean had also bought. It was the second Lord of the Rings book.

Dean shrugged a little, obviously wanting to belittle his thoughtful gesture. “I figured you wouldn’t have time to finish the library copy. You can take this one home with you.”

Castiel touched the books with gentle reverence. “Thank you, Dean,” he said simply. His heart overflowed with words, but he didn’t know how to express them. What had he done to deserve a friend like Dean? He felt blessed beyond measure.

“Well. This is a warm family moment,” John stood. “How about we turn off the TV, start up a fire, and Dean, get your guitar.”

Dean pulled up a kitchen chair and rested a stringed instrument, a _guitar,_ Castiel remembered, on his lap. He plucked the strings, tuning it.

Castiel got the fire going, and Sam helped out, and John rummaged in the kitchen cupboards. He set fluffy white objects on a plate, along with brown, rectangular crackers and chocolate.

“S’mores!” Sam exclaimed, and ran outside. He returned with four thin, green sticks. “Have you ever had a s’more before, Cas?”

Bemused, he shook his head. Sam wasted no time in showing him how to pop a marshmallow on the end of a stick. “Then just stick it in the fire.”

“Sammy likes them flamin,’” Dean interjected, fiddling with a knob on the guitar. “That’s great if you want to eat charcoal.”

Sam sent him a bitch face. “And you like yours all girly and golden brown.”

“Takes finesse to roast the perfect marshmallow,” Dean said, unperturbed. He strummed all six strings at once. It made a pleasant sound, and Castiel smiled. He followed Sam’s example and held his marshmallow over the fire, but a bit higher up than Sam’s. He was glad he did when Sam’s burst into flame.

“Yeah!” Sam blew it out and used half of a graham cracker to squish the black and white mess onto a graham cracker covered with chocolate. Then he smashed the other cracker on top and took a giant bite. “Yum!”

Castiel’s marshmallow looked a little burnt on one side, but golden on the other. Carefully, he followed Sam’s example with the crackers and chocolate while Dean strummed his guitar. His low, pleasantly husky voice crooned, “Lord, I was born a ramblin’ man...”

With the crackling fire warming his face, Dean’s quiet singing, and the sweet, sticky, chocolaty goodness filling his mouth, Castiel wondered if he was in heaven. Nothing could ever possibly be better than this. Of all the moments he’d wanted to hang onto today, this was the best one. He concentrated, trying his best to memorize every taste, every sensation, every sound. And most of all, the way he felt right now.

He glanced over at Dean, and found his gaze on him. Castiel couldn’t read his expression, but his smile looked melancholy. Dean played a new song now. A sweet, haunting melody. His fingers slowly caressed the strings, drawing out each note to perfection. The melody slid into Castiel’s soul, reminding him of lullabies and stars...and love, just beyond the reach of his dreams. Finally, his fingers stilled into silence.

“Is that a new song you’re working on, son?” John asked. “Never heard it before.”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean set the guitar aside and reached for a stick and marshmallow of his own. “It came to me last year. Well, the first line did. I’ve been trying to work on it ever since. I think I just found another couple of bars.”

“Something inspire you tonight?”

Dean licked his lips and shrugged. “I don’t know. Music’s just flowin,’ I guess.” His attention appeared to be completely focused on assembling the perfect base for his s’more.

Castiel ate three s’mores and then sat back on the couch, content to listen to Dean and Sam squabble while the fire warmed his skin and slowly burned down to bare embers. He didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want this evening to ever end.

Of course it did, and he finally slid between the cool sheets in his bed. He lay awake, listening as Dean’s breathing quieted into sleep, but Castiel stared out at the moon through the open curtains. Was that the same moon he saw in his own world? Melancholy caught at his spirit, making his heart ache.

He didn’t want to say goodbye to Dean, or to the other Winchesters. He didn’t want to go home. He wanted, more desperately than he’d ever wanted anything in his entire life, to stay here. Forever.

Finally he turned over on his pillow, facing away from Dean, and allowed the tears aching behind his eyes to slide down his cheeks and soak into his pillow. What had Echna always told him when he’d lived in the kitchen as a tiny boy?

“If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.” And he was the biggest beggar of all. He had no money, and no family in his world who loved him. He was a pauper, in the truest sense. He owned nothing in this world, and could take little into the next.

The quick burn in his dry throat told Castiel to scoop up a quick handful of water from the bucket at his bedside. Only a quarter of a bucket remained now. Another reminder he didn’t belong here. He never would. Never could. He had to go home.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean and Castiel each carried an empty bucket through the flowering purple laurel trees the next afternoon. Half of the blossoms littered the ground, looking bruised, and the edges looked dark and withered. They’d left Cas’s few glasses of remaining water in a pot in the back bedroom.

Dean glanced at his friend, and noted the grim set to Castiel’s mouth, and the unhappiness in his dark blue eyes. He didn’t want to go home. Dean didn’t blame him. He wished Castiel could stay in his world, where he’d be safe.

“If necessary, I’ll kill the sons of bitches,” he told Cas when they neared the meadow just north of the Rowley’s farm. That was only a slight exaggeration. He wasn’t proud of the violence that roiled up so easily in his soul, ready to do whatever was necessary to save a victim. Any victim. But Cas...he was on a whole different level, right up there with Sammy, and Dean hoped wisdom would guide his actions, instead of other, darker emotions like vengeance. Dean currently carried his new gun, and several knives, all strapped at strategic locations across his body. Castiel had accepted one knife for his own, which he wore tucked into a sheath attached to his belt.

Cas didn’t answer. He’d grown more silent as they drew closer to the farm.

The old shack, which Castiel wanted to move into, loomed to the east, but they cut straight ahead, across the grassy field toward the barn. Dean didn’t intend to hide from the Rowleys. He wanted to call them out. In fact, his fingers itched for the knife at his hip. A threat or two might instill the fear of God into them. The two wretches would learn a healthy respect for Castiel. It was the minimum he intended to accomplish on this trip.

But neither Rowley appeared as they walked along the eastern side of the barn. The fields to the east looked dry and withered, and the huge garden down the hill, next to the Rowley’s hut, looked wilted.

“Looks like they’ve been through a drought.”

“And a heat wave. Strange. It’s unusual for the earth to dry up so quickly after a storm.” Castiel frowned, crunching through the dirt, and then their feet rustled through the drooping, fluffy dark blue larkspur that edged the eastern side of the barn. “I hear the stream. The Rowleys could have used it to water the garden.”

“Maybe the old man had a heart attack,” Dean said with a grim smirk.

They reached the southern edge of the barn, and Castiel slowed to a stop. Dean instinctively did the same as his friend peered around the edge of the barn. Castiel’s shoulders relaxed. “No one,” he muttered.

It all seemed a little too easy to Dean, which caused uneasiness to curl in his stomach. But he kept his tone light when he said, “Great. We’ll get the water first.”

They’d already decided to take the fresh buckets of water back to the shack for safe keeping, and afterwards confront the Rowleys.

Cas cast a quick glance down the hill, across the silently waving dry grass to the Rowley’s quiet shack. No one appeared. No curtains twitched. He strode quickly for the stone well, located near the barn’s entrance. Dean realized all of a sudden that it was the well to which Castiel had been bound and beaten. His fist clenched tighter around the bucket’s handle as he followed close behind.

Castiel looked over his shoulder. “This shouldn’t take long...”

A low rumble electrified Dean’s ears. Sharp instinct told him to flee, but he hesitated, balanced on the balls of his feet, searching for the source of danger.

A huge, growling black shape rose from behind the well. Cas stopped abruptly, but before he could take a step back, the beast lunged at him.

“Cas!” Dean grabbed his arm and dragged him backward as the huge, snarling, _two-headed_ dog leaped at them. A chain, attached to the beast’s collar, stopped him, jerking him upright on his hind legs.

_RRRRRrrrrrRRRRR **rrrrr**_

“What in the _hell_...”

The black beast snapped and snarled. Saliva flew from its fanged mouth. Castiel and Dean both backpedalled as fast as they could, and Dean didn’t slow down until they’d put a good thirty feet between themselves and the mutant black dog. Slowly, he released his grip on Cas’s arm.  “What in the _hell,_ ” he growled again.

The beast shook its twin, mighty heads from side to side, its body movement fluid, like a serpent’s. With a mighty roar, he lunged for them again, jerking hard against the chain. Its body deepened into jet black, and its mouth glowed red, like blood.

Cas took another step backward. “Did you see that? His skin fades when he’s not attacking.”

The freak of nature _did_ look like translucent smoke right now. The monster stood still, growling low in its throat.

Cas muttered, “It reminds me of the ropes Echna used to bind me to the well. They felt the tightest and strongest when I fought against them.”

“That is one weird son of a bitch. It looks half ghost. Half...mortal.”

“It’s guarding the well. It won’t let me near.”

“So the Rowleys set it there. To sic on you.” Fury ratcheted higher in him, and he pulled his gun from the holster. “Stand back, Cas.”

He frowned. “The Rowleys will hear. Are you sure that’s a good idea, Dean?”

“Best we’ve got so far. The bullets are iron. Special made. If it’s a spook, it’ll gank it. Now stand back.” Castiel took a half step sideways, but that was it. Dean lunged toward the beast, “Come get me, you ugly son of a bitch!”

Cas made a small sound, deep in his throat, when the beast snarled and lunged for Dean. The creature’s hide deepened into an inky black, and Dean fired the gun straight into its heart.

It was the weirdest thing. He saw the bullet fly through, pillowing out smoke and red mist through dog’s chest. The heart should have exploded. _Something_ should have happened. But nothing did—except the ugly mutt exploded into growling, hysterical barks and frenzied lunges, jerking and yanking harder against the chain.

Despite himself, Dean stepped backward. He freed the silver knife from his belt. “Keep goin’ Fido,” he muttered. The beast’s skin rippled black, and it roared. Dean hurled the knife as hard as he could into the darkest, inkiest part of its throat.

The knife flew through the dog and fell to the ground. The beast’s rabid snarls and lunges escalated into a whole new level of insane.

Frankly, Dean was afraid it might break its chain. Of course, the chain might be enchanted, too. Might be best not to find out.

“Let’s go, Dean.”

“You read my mind.” He glanced at the Rowley’s cabin. Echna stood in the open doorway now. It might be the distance, but she looked older than before; her frame stooped, and skin sagging on her face. She just looked at them, but did nothing else. He noticed Cas watching her, too, and then his friend headed north, for the woods. Dean picked up his forgotten bucket and trotted after him.

Cas said nothing until they passed between the laurel trees, and were safe in Dean’s world once more. Quietly, he said, “If I can’t get to the water, I’ll die.”

“We’ll kill that dog. Don’t worry.” Maybe bravado spoke right now, but Dean was determined to make it so, no matter the cost. “But first, we’ll do a little research.”

“How? I’ve never heard of a two-headed dog before. It looked like a monster. Like from a nightmare.”

“I think a whole lot of weird shit is going down in your world, Cas. If we can figure out what it is, we’ll gank the dog. It’ll send a message to the Rowleys. Basically—screw with you, and they’ll be sorry.”

Castiel frowned as they trekked back to the cabin. “Why would the Rowleys chain the dog to the well?”

“They want to keep you away from the water. That’s clear.”

“But why?”

“Probably they know you’ll die without the water. They raised you from a baby, didn’t they? They must know your Achilles heel.”

Cas nodded. Slowly, he said, “That makes sense. So they want to deny me access to the well. They want me to come to them and beg and plead for the well water.”

“Yes. They want power over you, Cas. I’m thinking you must be some kind of threat to them. They go to extreme measures with you. Beating you. Starving you. Poisoning you. Like there’s something going on with you they want to control. Something you clearly know nothing about.”

“But what? I’m an orphan! No one wants me.”

Dean flinched at Cas’s self description. Did the guy really think he was worthless? “Stop it,” he said roughly. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“It’s the truth, Dean. My own mother left me at the well. I’m often surprised the Rowleys didn’t leave me there to die.”

Dean frowned, but considered Cas’s statement for a minute. “Remember the note? It said ‘If you take care of Castiel, he will take care of you.’ What do you think that meant?”

“I don’t know.”

The cabin appeared. The babysitter’s car had disappeared, and a furtive movement drew Dean’s attention to the living room window.

He strode up the steps. “What in the he... Sammy!” he bellowed, pushing open the door. He found his brother sitting on a stool with an innocent smile plastered on his face, making himself a PB & J sandwich.

“Back so soon, Dean?”

“Sammy.” He closed his eyes. “Tell me you did not just scare off the babysitter.”

“I’m too old for a babysitter. And can I help it if a little mouse scared her?”

“You’d better get that mouse out of here. Right _now._ ”

“Done,” Sam said with a sunny smile. “Hey, Cas. You’re back.” He noticed the empty buckets. “What happened?”

While Dean and Cas made lunch, they told Sam the story, which made his brother’s eyes widen with envy. “Man, why do I have to miss all the fun?”

“Because you’re a pain in the ass?” Dean suggested.

Sam slid off the stool and returned shortly with his laptop. “Two-headed dog, huh?”

Dean sent Cas a look. “Kid’s screwy in love with research.”

“You’ll laugh out the other side of your face when I figure this out, jerk.”

Dean took a big bite of sandwich and didn’t reply. In truth, he wanted to learn what Sam discovered. Much as he pretended to disparage Sam’s obsession with research, he was proud of his brother. The kid was a genius at finding out crucial, far out intel.

“Hmm,” Sam said. “The _X-File_ s aired one episode with a black, two-headed dog.”

At Castiel’s confused head tilt, Dean briefly described the old television show. Then he said, “I don’t think so, Sam. I don’t think Cas’s world is based on a TV show, weird as it was. His world has to be grounded in some sort of reality.”

Sam grinned. “The only other possibility is Orthros.”

Cas said, “Who is Orthros?”

“A two-headed dog from Greek mythology. He guarded a herd of red cattle on one of the Hesperides islands.” Sam smirked at Dean. “That real enough for you?”

Dean said nothing. Greek mythology? Crazy as it sounded... “Yeah. It fits,” he said finally. “Cas, your town’s name is Delphoi, like Delphi, Greece. The names of your coins are Greek—I looked it up ‘drachma’ last winter. And now a mythological Greek _dog_ is guarding your well.”

Cas nodded. “The facts do seem to link together.”

Sam piped up. “So the question is: how much Greek stuff is going on in your world, Cas?”

Dean said, “No. The question is: How do we kill Orthros, if that’s who he is.”

“Easy,” Sam said, glancing at his computer screen. “It says here Hercules killed him with one huge blow from his olive-wood club. Killing Orthros was his Tenth Labor.”

“Great. So now we have to find Hercules, the strongest mythological man in existence.”

“Or,” Cas said slowly, “maybe if we combine our strength, we could be as strong as Hercules.”

“ _Your_ axe swing is lethal,” Dean admitted. He couldn’t say the same for himself. Honestly, he wasn’t used to clubbing anything to death. Bullets, knives, stakes to the heart—those were the things he excelled in. “You sure it has to be an olive club, Sammy?”

“Well, your iron bullet and silver knife didn’t work. And salting and burning his corpse isn’t possible. So if it _is_ Orthros, it makes sense to kill him the same way Hercules did. It’s the only proven method.”

“You sure you’re only twelve?” Dean muttered. “Okay. So we need to find a big-assed olive club. Maybe two, and beat the crap out of that dog.”

“ _Mythological_ dog,” Sam said. “And it’s half a ghost, so good luck.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

Quietly, Cas said, “How will we get close to the dog?”

“Yeah. Without him eating us for supper. I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’ve got it!” An eager grin crossed Sam’s lips. “I’ll be the decoy. I’ll distract him while you two go at him with the clubs.”

“Huh,” Dean laughed. “And when he turns on us? I don’t want to turn into that dog’s gravy train, Sam. We need protection. Look on that computer and see if you can find protection against ghost dogs. Charms. Garlic...whatever.”

Sam focused on his computer again.

Dean noticed Cas eyeing him with a grave expression. “What?”

“This is my battle, Dean. I won’t let you put your life at risk. I’ll fight the dog alone.”

“No freakin’ way!” Dean couldn’t stop his small, incredulous laugh. “Not happening, Cas. Get used to it. I’m the hunter here.”

“And what do you hunt, exactly?” An unexpected edge sharpened Castiel’s tone. “Will you tell me, Dean?”

He floundered for a moment. “We kill things. Dangerous things. Strange things.”

“Like...?”

He licked his lips and carefully chose his words. “Vampires. Werewolves. Ghosts.”

Castiel’s deep blue eyes widened with surprise. “You have monsters? In your world?”

“Most people don’t think so. But yeah.” He didn’t offer information about the darker side of the family business. “So you see, I have experience, Cas. This is what we do.”

Castiel looked like he wanted to ask another question, but instead he exhaled softly. “I appreciate your help, Dean. I’d be grateful for any information about Orthros that we can find. But I still won’t allow you to put yourself in danger.” He stated the last flatly.

Dean eyed his friend, whose gaze bored into his own. Right now, the dude’s surprisingly serious expression gave off a lethal, ‘don’t argue with me’ vibe. Its intensity seared into Dean like a leashed force of nature. It actually made him swallow and hesitate. For a moment.

A cocky smile tugged at his lips. “Not for nothin,’ Cas, but right now, you look like one of those vengeful Greek gods.”

A small smile pulled at Castiel’s lips. Mildly, he said, “Then listen to me, Dean.”

Sam’s voice grabbed their attention. “We already know the basic protection elements. Salt and iron can repel ghosts. Ghosts can’t cross a salt line. And iron, like your bullet, can make them dissolve.”

“For a couple of seconds. Yeah. I’m not sure that’s enough. Anything else?”

“Burn sage. Ancient Greeks burned rosemary to repel evil spirits. We could also pray to God. Also, garlic hung over a door repels evil spirits. Other repellents are brass or brass bells, horseshoes, holy water, hazel wood, hazel nuts... And a hagstone looks like one of the best repellents.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a rock with a natural hole worn through it,” Sam said, reading from the screen. “It’s supposed to ward off dead spirits and protect people. Some people wear them on cords around their necks.”

“How about we load up on everything,” Dean suggested. “Salt, iron, garlic, brass, hazel nuts. We’ll carry it all in our pockets, Cas. And we’ll find some hagstones. When we attack, the decoy will burn sage and rosemary, and he’ll throw holy water to distract the mutant.”

Castiel said, “And perhaps we should pray.”

Dean’s brow flicked up. “Whatever floats your boat, man.”

“If we’re fighting against the spirit world, and monsters from Greek mythology, it makes sense to pray to God, too,” Castiel stated, with a mulish set his jaw.

“Okay,” Dean said, to appease him. “You and Sammy can head up that operation.”

Castiel just stared at him, making heat prickle up on Dean’s neck. “Okay,” he muttered, “I’ll give it a try. _One_ time.”

“About the decoy, Dean,” Castiel said. “We both know Sam can’t come. I’d like you to be the decoy.”

“You mean the damsel in distress?”

“I hope _I_ don’t end up the fair maiden in distress,” Cas said wryly.

“We can find most of the stuff we need here in town,” Sam muttered, still peering at the computer. But the hagstones and olive-wood clubs are another story.”

“James might know where to find them,” Cas said. “I feel confident that either he or Hazel could help us.”

“Great. That’s the plan. But we’re _both_ getting olive-wood clubs,” Dean stated. And that was the end of the discussion. He’d be damned if he stood back and let Cas take all the risk. Castiel would find that out for himself, tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More about Orthros:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geryon


	19. Chapter 19

Castiel could tell Sam wasn’t happy to be left behind the next morning. However, somewhat suspiciously, Dean’s younger brother silently ate his breakfast and disappeared into his room before they left. Dean hadn’t bothered to find another babysitter. It seemed pointless, as Sam would probably scare off another one.

Castiel and Dean each carried one of Cas’s buckets through the two sentinel laurel trees. Only a quarter of the blossoms remained now.

Castiel had finished his last half glass of well water this morning. He needed to get fresh water very soon. He’d tried to make the last quarter of a bucket last, but he needed several glasses of water a day just to function. The few, remaining swallows this morning weren’t enough. Thirst already dried his throat. By noon he’d begin to dehydrate again. That was not a memory he’d like to relive.

His pockets felt heavy with the spirit repellents, and a cord around his neck awaited a hagstone—hopefully James could help find them two for their brutal face-off with the two-headed dog. Castiel also carried a sack of sage, rosemary and a lighter, and Dean carried a canteen of holy water and a big sack of salt.

Dean whistled, swinging the bucket.

“You don’t seem nervous, Dean.”

He shrugged. “Won’t help if I am.”

They approached the shack in the Rowley’s back field. Weathered grey walls held up the tilting structure, and grime covered the two windows. Although the front door looked solid, the roof needed work. Dry grass fluttered against the small building, poking up from the pebbled dirt. No brilliant larkspur grew here. Even the sunlight felt paler in this section of the clearing. Combined together with the faded grass and the dull grey color of the shack, it felt a bit depressing.

Melancholy slipped into Castiel’s spirit. He didn’t want to live in the lonely, weather-beaten shack. He wanted to stay with Dean. He wanted to go _home_. And home meant the cabin. Actually, home meant wherever Dean might be.

After dropping off the empty buckets near the shack, the two quietly trekked through the woods, following the stream south, toward Delphoi. At one point, Castiel and Dean slipped east and eyed the well. The black dog lay curled up on the ground. It’s shadowy hide rhythmically rose and fell. Probably napping. Castiel sighed. Any vain hope vanished that the dog might have magically disappeared.

They passed through Delphoi, and on through the river park. The swift-flowing river still thundered under the bridge. Although it looked less swollen than when Castiel had left a few days earlier, it still looked lethal. Poor Granny Wiggins.

He led the way on to the homeless camp, located further upstream.

“Castiel!” James spotted him from the distance, and hobbled around boulders to meet them.

Castiel frowned. “What happened to your leg?”

“Nothing but old age and poor eyesight.” James rolled his eyes. “Twisted my ankle, is all.” He stuck out his hand to Dean. “Who’s this?”

Dean firmly shook it. “Dean Winchester.”

“I’m James. Welcome to our humble camp.”

They slowly made their way into the homeless camp. Blankets covered several new dwellings, and a small fire burned near the river. The memory of the last days Castiel had spent in the camp washed through him—the hopeless, burning thirst, and his feeling of despair, which included his certainty that he’d never see Dean again. He smiled, realizing for the first time how peaceful and happy he felt right now. Just having Dean nearby gave him a feeling of comfort and protection, too. That everything would be all right. Maybe that was wishful thinking, but he couldn’t dislodge that calm certainty from his heart.

James said, with a twinkle in his faded blue eyes, “You’re looking a sight better than the last time I saw you.”

Castiel glanced at Dean. “Dean and his family have been very kind to me.”

James nodded toward the forest, a stone’s throw away. “And that young man, following you? Is he a Winchester, too?”

Dean spun around. A shaggy head disappeared behind a tree. “Sammy!” he bellowed. “ _Get down here._ ”

James hid a smile, and shuffled to a large boulder near the fire. Dean strode up the small embankment, grabbed Sam’s arm and hissed curses under his breath. Castiel tried not to listen. Sam followed Dean down to the camp, his head hanging.

“This does _not_ mean you’re helping with the dog,” Dean snapped. He pointed to a rock. “Sit!”

Sam obeyed, but he looked around with brightening eyes, taking in his new surroundings with interest. He’d succeeded in his mission. The younger Winchester was stealthier than Castiel had realized. He’d need to keep a better watch on the boy in the future.

Castiel made more introductions when Hazel wandered up, as did the remainder of the little camp. Everyone greeted Castiel with warm smiles. Although most were people of few words, they made him feel welcome, missed and appreciated.

Castiel finally explained why they had come, including a brief mention of Dean’s world. He ended with their problem with the mythical ghost dog.

“Orthros?” James frowned. “Another bad omen.”

“Like the blizzard?” Castiel said. “And the thunderstorm that destroyed camp?”

“Mmhm. The cycle of the Vortex is becoming more violent. Something is trying to force the elements back into the Sphere. Before their time.”

“ _What?_ ” Sam said, blinking in confusion.

“Empedocles,” James said, as if that explained everything.

Castiel explained, “Empedocles was an old Greek scholar. He believed that long ago all of the elements—earth, fire, water and air—were unified into a Sphere; each made up of equal, segregated parts. Love dominated the universe. Unified it. But then Strife entered the universe, and over time dissolved the Sphere and scattered the elements. Now cycles of love and strife—good and evil—fluctuate in cycles of opposition called the Vortex.”

“Right.” James took up the tale. “Empedocles believed that afterward, love strengthened again, and clustered the elements together to form life. Although now the Vortex continues, at some point the elements will come together again and form a second Sphere.”

“Love would dominate the new Sphere,” Castiel put in.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “So...it sounds like love will get stronger and win. It’ll form a second Sphere. Isn’t that good?”

“The new Sphere is being _forced_ ,” James said. “The blizzard and hurricane caused strife. Strife causes destruction. The forcing of the elements together is causing evil. Not good. Love is supposed to gather strength. Not evil. This forced alignment of the Sphere...of the universe or _universes_...may result in the utter annihilation of every world, scattering all pieces far and wide again.”

“Let’s say your theory is right. You’re saying something—some mystery catalyst— is trying to blow your world to kingdom come?” Dean said.

“And your world, too,” James said. “Clearly, they are connected. Although perhaps only by a thin thread.”

“You mean by Dean and Cas. And their magical gateway.” Sam interjected.

James shrugged, but didn’t dismiss the idea.

“Let me get this straight,” Dean said. “Something is trying to force a new Sphere. But why?”

“I don’t know,” James admitted. “But I feel it, in my bones. Something is wrong. Castiel feels the same.”

Dean glanced over. “How, Cas?”

“I feel storms, Dean. I understand them; I always have. It’s hard to explain—in fact, _I_ don’t understand. But the blizzard and the hurricane this last year...they felt malevolent...uncontrollable. They shrieked.”

James muttered, “If this continues, all of our worlds will collide.”

Sam spoke up. “Last night, I read about ancient Delphi. Did you know philosophers used to think that city was the _omphalos_ , or the navel of the world?”

“Navel?” Dean sputtered on a laugh.

“Jerk.” Sam sent him a bitch face. “ _Omphalos_ means the world’s beginning point. The center of the world. Also known as Axis mundi. Cosmic axis. A place of connection between heaven and earth. A point where the four corners of the compass meet. A point where travel between lower and higher realms is possible.”

“Delphi,” Castiel said thoughtfully. “Perhaps our Delphoi is the center of the Sphere. Maybe that is why Dean’s world and our world can connect here.”

A light sparkled in James’ eyes. “That makes sense.”

Dean’s raised brow indicated he found the whole Sphere theory questionable. “Let’s say you’re right, James, with this whole Sphere deal. How long do we have before things go kaboom?”

“It depends on what is causing the disturbance, and how quickly matters progress,” James replied. “Until we know those facts, we can form no hypotheses. It could happen in one year, or five or ten. I have no answers. All I know is Castiel is a part of it. That is the only thing I do know. And probably you are, too, Dean.”

Dean glanced at Castiel, eyebrow still raised. However, his expression indicated he might believe Cas could be a part of something other-worldly and cosmic. “So, that brings us back to the mutant ghost dog. We need to kill it, or Cas will die. That means we need to find olive-wood clubs and hagstones. Can you help us?”

Hazel pulled a cord over her head. Its leather loop threaded through the worn hole of a small grey stone. “You’re welcome to borrow mine.”

“Thank you, Hazel.” Castiel accepted it with a smile.

Granny Wiggin’s son unexpectedly stood and shuffled forward. He pulled an object from the pocket of his drooping, baggy pants. He pressed the smooth stone into Castiel’s palm. “Here. Keep it. Granny would want you to have it.”

James eyed the tear drop shaped object in Castiel’s palm. Bands of black, red and white striped the stone, and a worn hole formed a small place through which to thread a cord. “Johnny. Are you sure? A sardonyx stone is valuable. Especially one made up of the three ancient colors. A hagstone made of a sardonyx stone like this is...invaluable.”

The blond-haired man ducked his head. “’m sure. It kept her safe for a long time. Granny would want Castiel to have it.” He sent Cas a small smile and returned to his seat.

“Thank you, Johnny,” Castiel said softly. “Thank you very much.” He could barely believe the generosity of his friends; people who already owned so little. He swallowed hard. The itch in his throat burned a little now. “I don’t know how to thank any of you for your friendship. You’ve helped me when I was in a bad place. And now...”

James clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a member of our family, Castiel. And so are your two young friends.” He nodded down at the stone glowing in Castiel’s palm. “That hagstone is the strongest protection you’ll get against demons, ghosts, witches, and every evil spirit imaginable.”

“Great. That’s exactly what he needs,” Dean interjected, reaching for Hazel’s grey hagstone and placing it around his neck. “He needs protection from those sons of bitches, the Rowleys.”

James squinted at Castiel with compassion. “You’ll always have a home here, if you need one, Castiel.”

“Thank you,” His eyes burned, and he felt a hot lump in his throat. He didn’t want to cry, but it was hard to see through the tears in his eyes.

James roughly patted his arm. “The olive wood is a different story. Can’t help you out there. It’s expensive. Only the rich can afford it.”

“Do you know anyone rich?” Dean asked Castiel.

“No.” And then he remembered Ana’s house; the biggest one in Delphoi. “Well, perhaps Ana’s parents...”

“Ask them,” Hazel urged. “Priscilla will help, if she can. You saved her little girl’s life, Castiel.”

They said their goodbyes to the people at the homeless camp, which included several tight hugs for Castiel, and headed toward town. They all hoped Ana’s family could help them with their final quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More about Empedocles’ theories:  
> http://www.webwinds.com/myth/elemental.htm  
> More about Sardonyx:  
> http://www.uniqueperceptions.ca/productinfo/sardonyx.html  
> Hagstones:  
> http://paganwiccan.about.com/od/othermagicspells/ss/What-is-a-Hagstone.htm


	20. Chapter 20

Castiel threaded the precious hagstone through the leather loop he’d brought, and tied it around his neck. The stone slid beneath his shirt, and rested over his heart.

“Don’t take it off. Ever,” Dean said roughly.

“I won’t.”

Sam sprinted onto Ana’s porch and pounded on the door.

The door flung open a moment later to reveal a frowning Ana. Her scowl intensified when she saw Sam. “You. You are the rudest boy I know.”

“Who is it?” Priscilla appeared in the doorway. Her brows twitched together when she saw the two Winchesters, but she smiled at Castiel. “What brings you here, Castiel?”

“It’s a long story. Please, may we come in?”

After introductions, Castiel explained their predicament, and the need for an olive club.

“Two,” Dean interjected.

“You know I’d do anything for you, Castiel. I appreciate everything you’ve done for Ana. And I’m so sorry you need the well water just as much as she does. But the only olive wood furniture I own is our dining table. I couldn’t...if a leg broke, my husband would never forgive me.”

“Think about it,” Dean said, his voice harsh. “If the Rowleys have their way, water will stay expensive. You’ll never get enough for Ana. She’ll die. And Cas...he won’t be able to help you anymore. So what will it be? A dining table? Or Ana’s life?”

While Dean had used a harsher tone that Castiel would consider, it seemed to work. Conflicted emotions flickered over Priscilla’s face. “I don’t know.”

“Please, Mama,” Ana urged. “We have to help Casthiel!” Her lisp had improved, but still lingered.

Prisicilla bit her lip. “Well... All right. Please bring the table legs back. No matter the shape they’re in.”

“Will do.” Dean and Castiel set to work turning the table upside down and then removed two stout legs. Dean hefted one in his hands. “Golden. That mutant bitch is toast.”

“Dean,” Castiel murmured, with a glance toward Ana and her mother.

Dean flushed, and offered a sheepish grin. “Sorry for my language.”

“I want to come,” Ana said, when they headed for the door.

“Sammy’s gonna push you in the swing. Aren’t you, Sammy?” Dean said. “Until we come back.”

Ana’s eyes widened, but uncertain suspicion sparkled in the gaze she sent Sam.

“Dean!” Sam whined. “That’s not fair.”

“Fair, shmare, Sam. Take it or leave it. You’re staying safe, and that’s it.”

“I’ll watch him,” Priscilla offered.

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Thanks. Come on, Cas. Priscilla, we’ll be back in a flash.”

Sam’s baleful glare followed them out the door, but Dean’s cheerful whistle indicated he couldn’t care less.

“Ready, Cas? We’re gonna gank that freak show, and show the Rowleys who’s boss. Lookin’ like a good afternoon to me.”

Castiel hoped he was right.

*****

Castiel and Dean talked strategy as they returned to the farm.

“We have no guarantee the dog will stay chained,” Castiel said.

“I’ll draw a salt circle in the dirt. If something goes wrong, we’ll run inside. It’ll keep us safe.”

They both fell silent as they passed by the Rowleys’ shop. Castiel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “It’s closed.”

“They’re missing you for sure, man. Without your hard labor, they’ve got nothing to sell.”

“Ty could pick vegetables, and draw well water, too.”

“They’re old. And we haven’t seen Ty yet. Maybe he’s dead.”

Dead? Hope lifted Castiel heart, and then he felt guilty for it. Surely it was wrong to wish death upon another human being.

Neither of the Rowleys appeared as they passed their house. But the huge, two-headed dog rose on its haunches and growled low in its throat when they approached the barn.

“Still wearing the chain. For now.” Dean set down his burdens just east of the barn. He grabbed the bag of salt and drew a large oval in the dirt just beyond the mutant dog’s attack range. As he did so, the translucent beast snarled, and pulled hard on its chain.

Dean grinned. “Don’t worry, Fifi. You’ll get plenty of attention real soon.”

While Dean drew the circle, Castiel lit a small fire, located midway between the dog and the circle.

Dean grabbed two stout branches and tied a towel, filled with sage and rosemary, to the tip of each one. They’d light them in the fire as a last resort. “Ready,” he said finally. “How about you, Cas?”

He nodded, and gripped the olive wood table leg tighter in his sweaty hands. The noonday sun felt blazing hot, and his gaze flicked between the dog and the well. His saliva felt sticky, and his throat burned. Dehydration. It was happening much too fast. From experience, he knew light-headedness would soon follow, followed by extreme difficulty concentrating. Only a small window of time remained before his judgment would become impaired.

“Cas?” Dean’s rough voice drew his attention. “What’s wrong?”

He swallowed. “Nothing. Just a little thirsty. Let’s do this, Dean. I’m ready.”

“I’ll get his attention, and keep him yanking at the end of his chain. Go for it.” Dean lunged at the beast, getting so close he could probably feel its hot breath. “Come on, Rover. Come and get it!” He waved his arms and shouted snarky epithets, and Orthros lunged and snarled, saliva flying. At one point, Dean pulled a wry, disgusted look and wiped his face.

While Dean distracted the dog, Castiel swallowed hard against the burning sensation in his throat and circled behind the dog, into the definitely _not safe_ kill zone, and raised his club. When the dog lunged hard for Dean, solidifying into a solid, inky black, Castiel swung hard at one of its heads. He felt the hit. It vibrated up his arms, and through his bones.

Faster than an eye blink, the mythical beast spun and leaped at him. Castiel stumbled backward, raising the club in self-defense. The dog’s teeth snapped around the wooden leg and yanked hard, wrenching it out of his hands. Growling, the beast stared at Castiel. Its jaws flexed on the table leg in its mouth, and it cracked in half.

Cas stumbled backward. He landed on his rump in the dirt.

“Come _here,_ you ugly son of a bitch!” Dean bellowed. The beast’s hulking body loomed over Castiel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean’s torch blaze high. Castiel scrabbled backward.

The beast screamed in pain. It spun to attack Dean, who now stood, unprotected, inside the kill zone. Castiel leaped up and grabbed the longest broken table piece. He swung it hard at the dog’s nearest head. Orthros screamed again, and whipped around on Castiel. Vicious teeth ripped the club from his hand, and the mutant lunged at him. He spun sideways, avoiding him. Cas’s own harsh breaths felt like hot winds whistling through the Sahara desert.

“Cas! Here!” Dean threw the other club, end over end, and he caught it just as Orthros lunged for him again.

Hot breath seared Cas’s skin, and he struggled to turn in time, to hit the beast, but failed. He found the beast inches from his face, fiery red eyes staring into his own, smoky flesh rippling in shimmering, translucent waves. Hot breath toasted Cas’s skin, feeling as hot as flames from hell. The burn in Castiel’s throat blistered with scorching pain. It felt as if his skin might combust.

The mutant circled Castiel. It didn’t try to bite him, although it remained very, very close. Cas circled with it, gripping the olive club tightly.

“It’s the hagstone, Cas. It’s protecting you. I’ll poke it again in the ass. Club it hard.”

“Okay.” Castiel’s head swam, and he blinked. He felt as if his mind and body slid through a fog of hazy, blistering smoke. The beast’s hot breath scorched into him, feeling like it burned up every molecule of water his body possessed. “Dean,” he choked out, “Hurry.”

Dean ran forward, and Castiel stepped back, just as the beast screamed and whipped around. It attacked Dean, paw plowing into his chest, and shoved him down hard onto the ground. The torch flew out of Dean’s hand and rolled into the dry grass. Flames shot skyward.

“Dean!” Castiel fought through his blurring vision and burning lungs and swung for the mutant’s head with every fiber of muscle he’d earned cutting cords of firewood. One head split into two. Orthros screamed, but instead of turning on Cas, his other head opened wide its red, glowing mouth, and the dripping jowls swooped for Dean’s neck.

Dizzy and shaky, and arms trembling, Castiel knew if he missed the dog, he’d brain Dean.

“Cas!” Dean cried out, and Castiel swung the club with all of his strength. Orthros’s other head shattered in half, just as its jaws wrapped around Dean’s neck. An unearthly shriek rent the air. Black bubbled out of its split head, like clouds of oil.

For a second, Cas feared Dean was the one who had screamed. That Orthros had bitten his neck in two. But then Dean scrabbled backward, hand pressed to the blood flowing from his neck, and the mutant dog toppled sideways. It vanished in a puff of smoke.

Castiel ran to him. “Dean!”

“I’m okay. It’s just a scratch.”

Cas pulled Dean’s fingers from his neck. Four deep tooth marks, looking like the fang marks of a serpent, bled profusely. _Too much blood._ The monster must have hit an artery. Fear tasted like acid in Castiel’s throat. Choking on the dust and smoke billowing up from the leaping grass fire, Cas spun and ran for the well, grabbing up a bucket beside the barn on the way.

His head pounded, and he could barely think. His ears rang, and his head felt like cotton, or like clouds; insubstantial and thoughts barely clinging together to form a coherent whole. Barely able to see through his clouding vision, he pumped water into the bucket and stumbled on shaky legs back to Dean, who lay very still on the grass. He splashed the water over Dean’s throat. And his face. He pulled his friend upright.

“ _Drink._ Now!” he choked out. Dean swallowed, weakly. Once. Twice. His head fell back on Castiel’s shoulder.

“No. _No!_ ” His raw bellow echoed off the barn walls, and rose in a shriek to the sky. Flames touched Cas’s skin, so he splashed the remainder of the water on Dean’s throat, on his own skin, and on the flames rising a short distance away. “No!” he thundered. Or he tried to thunder. His voice sounded small, and weak. Something cool hit his face. A raindrop. _A storm._ Fear of a new kind rose to suffocate him. The fresh rain sizzled down, hissing and spitting into the grass fire.

Castiel gently released Dean and ran to the well, running on fumes; on the last dregs of energy he could muster. Frantically, he pulled on the well’s lever. Water gushed into the bucket. He dipped up a handful, swallowed, and cried out in relief. Still sweet.

He grabbed another bucket and filled that one, just as thunder cracked overhead, and rain poured down. He tasted the water in that bucket. _Bitter._

He covered the good water with his shirt, and stumbled through the downpour for Dean. At least the rain was swiftly extinguishing the fire. His friend sat up a little on his elbows now, looking groggy.

“Dean!” He dropped to his knees beside him. “Are you okay?”

Dean’s fingers went to his neck. The wounds had closed. Dark pink skin revealed where the bites had been. “What happened?” His voice sounded husky.

Castiel swallowed against the burn in his own throat. He had to drink. Carefully, he cupped hands into the bucket and gulped. “Ahh,” he whispered, shaking with relief as the cool water slid down his throat, and refreshed his mind.

“Drink more,” he told his friend.

“I don’t want to take your water. No.”

“Dean,” he growled, deep in his throat, and thunder rumbled overhead. The other boy glanced at him in surprise. Even more surprising, he dipped up a few handfuls of water and drank.

He rose to his feet. “I’m fine, Cas. Promise. “Let’s get this water somewhere safe, and then we’ll deal with the Rowleys.”

Between the two of them, they swiftly carried the bucket to Dean’s side of the flowering laurel trees, and then sprinted back through the rain for the farm.

Sam was still in Delphoi, which made Castiel feel somewhat uneasy. He didn’t know where the Rowleys were right now, which meant Sam might be in danger. He expressed his concern to Dean.

“I know,” he grimly replied, and ran up on the Rowley’s porch. He pounded hard with his fist. “Open up, you sons of bitches!”

No one answered. Dean shouldered his way inside. Ty lay on the couch, eyes closed, and Echna sat beside him, sobbing. When she saw them, she leaped to her feet and screamed, “Get _out_.”

Her hair looked like twisted gray snakes, and her blotchy old skin sagged on her face. She appeared to have aged twenty years over the last two weeks.

“Yeah. Don’t think so,” Dean said. He pulled the gun from the waistband of his jeans, and checked the chamber. He snapped it back into place.

“What’s that?” Echna said suspiciously. Her baleful eyes actually looked frightened. “What does it _do_?”

Dean leveled the gun at the old woman. He caressed the trigger. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

Her yellowed teeth drew back in a snarl. “I’m an old woman.”

“Right. Not much of a loss.”

“Dean,” Castiel said.

After a minute, Dean’s tense shoulders relaxed a little. “It’s clear you and your old man aren’t doing so great without Cas. Give ’em your demands, Cas.”

Echna glared. Ty’s eyes remained shut, his skin translucent. It was hard for Castiel to believe this was the same man who had nearly beaten him to death almost two weeks ago.

He said, “I’ll come back to work. But only under several conditions.”

Echna’s lips curled.

“The shack in the back field will be mine. You may not enter it. Not ever.” He waited.

Echna gave a short nod.

“Ana will receive free water for the rest of her life.”

Echna glared, but finally, she nodded.

“You will never try to poison me, or beat me again.”

Echna glanced at Ty, but nodded.

“That’s all...”

“No,” Dean interjected. “That is _not_ all, Cas. You,” his gun returned to Echna, “and Ty, will give Cas one day off a week. You’ll also pay him. Three hundred drachmas a week.”

“Three _hundred_...” Echna sputtered. She burst into high-pitched laughter.

“Take it or leave it.”

“Your _boyfriend_ is doing you no favors, Castiel.”

Bewildered, Castiel glanced at Dean, who just rolled his eyes. Dean said, “I don’t swing that way, and neither does Cas. Three hundred drachmas. Or... Meet your maker, like your freaky dog did.”

“Aa _ahhh!_ ” A blood curdling screech rent the air, and Echna flew at him. Swiftly, Castiel stepped between them. With a small cry, Echna shrank back. Her bulging eyes fell to the lump beneath his T-shirt. “Where did you _get_ _that?_ ” she hissed. Her finger jabbed forward, but bounced back, as if hitting an invisible barrier.

Dean gritted, “None of your business, bitch.” He repeated, “One day off. Three hundred drachmas a week. Paid in cash on the last day of the week.”

Echna glanced at Ty. “I can’t promise that.”

“Then we’re outta here. Come on, Cas.” He headed for the door.

“Castiel can’t live without the water!” Echna shrieked.

Dean turned back. “And you can’t live without _him_. So go ahead— put as many weird-assed mutants on that well as you want. We’ll kill every last one. You can’t keep him away from the well. He’ll get what he needs. But you. Well, you and Ty, you’ll die. Have a nice life.”  He strode through the doorway.

Castiel hesitated, but followed. How could Dean leave? Nothing was settled. Anxiety clutched his gut, but he followed Dean, because he trusted him. Dean was considerably more worldly-wise that he was, after all.

Echna allowed them to descend the porch steps before she snapped, “One hundred drachmas.”

Dean kept going.

Castiel’s mouth opened a little in surprise, but he continued to follow his friend.

“Two hundred!” Echna screeched.

Castiel finally turned around. In a low, thunderous voice he said, “Three hundred.”

Echna’s narrowed gaze battled his own. But Castiel had made up his mind. He would not let Echna win. Not even one drachma. He’d lost enough to the Rowleys. He would lose no more. When she didn’t reply, he headed back up the hill to collect Priscilla’s olive wood table legs.

“ _All right!_ ” she screamed. “Three hundred drachmas a week.”

Dean turned back. “And if you renege on your promise, Cas will quit working. Capiche?”

Echna glared, but nodded.

“Great. Cas will start work on Monday.”

Nothing but silence followed them.

They climbed up the hill in the soft rain. Since both of the Rowleys were in the house, Castiel felt considerably better about Sam’s safety. He also noticed that the swiftly arriving thunder clouds had already lightened to a pale grey. The storm had arrived just in time to put out the grass fire. Luckily, he’d managed to get his sweet well water before it turned bitter.

He and Dean picked up the intact table leg, and the broken pieces, too. Castiel felt bad about the ruined one. But perhaps he could use the drachmas he’d soon earn to pay Ana’s family back for the loss.

Orthros was dead. He and Dean had succeeded in their quest. Cas hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself before, but he’d had his doubts. Right now, everything appeared to be peaceful again. He glanced at the area around the barn. The salt ring, the scuffed earth. The area of blackened grass. The well, freed now from Orthros. He also noticed something else.

“Dean, look. Remember when the Rowleys lit a fire last Midsummer’s Eve?”

“Yeah?”

“Look. Grass grew over the burn marks. They didn’t light a new bonfire this year.”

“Weird. Don’t they light one every year?”

“Most years, yes.”

“You weren’t here. Maybe that’s why they didn’t?”

“I don’t know.” Castiel frowned, trying to make sense of the mystery. As they headed back down the hill to Ana’s house, another, more uncomfortable topic came to mind. His skin warmed a bit, but he trusted his friend enough to ask the question.

“Dean. I don’t understand something. Why did Echna call you my boyfriend?”

Dean gave a short, dismissive snort. “No big deal. She wanted to get under your skin. So she attacked your sexuality. Mine, too. Calling you gay is a cheap shot. Don’t let it get to you.”

Comprehension dawned. Castiel’s cheeks flamed at the implication. “Oh... But... Doesn’t the Bible say...”

“It’s not kosher. Yeah. Supposedly.”

The Bible stories Castiel had read slid through his mind, and then something new clicked into place. “But Jonathon loved David. And David loved Jonathon.”

“Yeah. Friends? Or friends with benefits? I’m sure Bible scholars could argue that issue forever.”

Castiel shoved his hands into his pockets. He wasn’t sure what he felt about the subject. But he _was_ curious what Dean thought, because he valued his opinion. “Do you think it’s wrong?”

“No.” He shrugged. “If two people love each other, isn’t that what life is supposed to be about? Love? Love God, love others? Lust, though. That might be different. It’s sure as hell not love to want someone for their body, and nothing else.”

Castiel thought about how Winter had touched him. A uncomfortable sensation snaked under his skin. “I agree, Dean. So, you don’t think there’s a law against love—true, real love. Even if the people in the relationship are the same gender?”

“Selfless love, no. I don’t ever think there could ever be a law against a love like that.”

Castiel smiled, feeling happy, although he couldn’t explain why. “I agree.”

Dean grinned at him. “Pretty heavy conversation. If I were you, I’d be thinking about how to spend those three hundred drachmas a week.”

“I have a few ideas.” The Purcivals’ house was just ahead.

“ _Dean!_ ” Sam burst out the door and flew down the porch steps. “Save me!”

In the doorway, Ana watched him go, hands on her narrow hips. “And good riddance!”

Castiel and Dean returned the table legs to Priscilla, and Cas promised to pay for the damage, just as soon as he received his first week’s pay. “And water for Ana will be free from now on.”

Priscilla hugged him tightly, and Dean, too. “Oh, you boys. I don’t know what I would do without you. And Castiel, without you, Ana...” Tears filled her eyes.

Awkwardly, Castiel touched her shoulder. “I am glad I could help.”

“Thank you, Casth. Thank you, Dean.” Ana hugged them too, and grinned up at them. The space below her growing two front teeth was still prominent. “I love you both.”

Dean cleared his throat and glanced away, looking embarrassed. But Castiel told the little girl gravely, “I love you, too, Ana.”

Sam rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. He tapped his foot, clearly ready to bolt.

“’Bye, Sam,” Priscilla smiled. “It was nice to meet you. I’m sure Ana would love for you to come and play again sometime.”

“Thank you,” Dean spoke for his brother, whose larnyx appeared to have malfunctioned, if his averted face and bobbing, gagging throat movements were anything to go by.

After leaving Ana’s house, they headed for the bridge to return Hazel’s hagstone. On the way, Sam recovered the use of his vocal cords. “Staying with Ana was bogus.”

“Maybe that will teach you to sneak after us,” his brother snarked.

Sam huffed in annoyance. “You’re such a jerk. Man, if it wasn’t for Cas, I’d let you twist in the wind.” He shot Dean an impressive bitch face.

Castiel wisely decided to intervene. “Did you learn something, then, Sam?”

“Yeah. While I was exiled at that _child’s_ house,” Sam scowled at Dean, “Priscilla said the Rowleys haven’t sold any water at all. Not for the last two weeks. Probably not since Ty beat you, Cas.”

Castiel’s brows furrowed, and he tilted his head. “Strange. The water was bitter for the first four days, but afterward...

“Ty’s an old man,” Dean said. “Maybe he couldn’t handle the farm and pumping the well water, too.”

They’d reached the homeless camp beyond the bridge, and so they dropped the subject for the time being. There, as the sun dipped lower and gilded the treetops gold, they told their homeless friends the harrowing tale of killing Orthros. Sam gasped in envy, his eyes bright, and the others appeared just as thrilled by the tale. Johnny looked as pleased as punch to learn his grandmother’s hagstone had protected Castiel so well.

Castiel didn’t say anything to Hazel, but her hagstone hadn’t seemed to protect Dean at all. The bite marks in Dean’s neck had faded to round, pale scars.

As the sun dipped below the treetops, they said their goodbyes and headed home. Sam ran through Delphoi and up the hill, leading the way through the woods. Slowly, they made their way back through the laurel trees, where Castiel picked up his water bucket. An excellent, although scary day.

“Dad’s coming home tomorrow,” Dean told Castiel as they neared the cabin. “And Saturday we’ll leave. Let’s bring your gear to your new place tomorrow. But spend Friday night with us. Okay? And then on Saturday...” He stopped talking and swallowed.

Castiel’s throat ached, too. Soon Dean would leave. He wouldn’t see him again for another whole year.

“I would like that, Dean,” he said softly. And when Dean’s grin flashed at him, as bright as sunshine, joy winged through Castiel’s soul. He smiled back. If only life could stay this good.


	21. Chapter 21

Dean decided to let Sam tag along when they returned to Cas’s world on Friday morning. “Let” meaning “allowed,” provided Sam lugged half of Castiel’s belongings to his new home. Which basically meant that Sam carried as much as Dean could load into his arms. Cas gave Dean a look, which Dean returned with an unrepentant grin.

“The kid’s a menace. He needs to learn some manners.”

“I’ll teach you manners,” Sam mumbled from behind the blanket and pillow, which were piled high in his arms. Dean draped an extra bag of clothes on top, so Sam could barely see where he was going. To be fair, Cas carried the duffel, the water bucket, as well as a broom and mop, and Dean carried the bucket of cleaning supplies, as well as a bag of the protective charms needed to keep Castiel’s new hut safe from the Rowleys.

Last year, Dean had believed the Rowleys were your basic, garden variety of nutcase. Then he’d wondered if Echna might be a witch. He still wondered that, although his hunter’s gut told him something else was going on with the two old people. How else could they conjure up Orthros, a mythical, not to mention _dead,_ two-headed dog?

And James’ theory about the Sphere and the Vortex bugged him, too. While he wasn’t sure he bought into that whole far-out theory, the possibility made him feel uneasy about leaving Cas again. He hoped the hagstone, and all of the protection they’d place in his hut, would keep him safe during the next year. Most of all, he wished he could stay and protect his friend.

He really wished he didn’t have to leave Cas again. But Sammy needed him. Even his father needed him, although he’d never admit it. And Cas’s world wasn’t Dean’s own.

As they trekked through the woods, the scrub brushes, sponges and detergents shifted in his bucket with each stride. The cleaning supplies were Castiel’s idea, after he’d remarked upon the sparkling clean appearance of the Winchester’s cabin. The smooth surfaces and clean scents appealed to him, if his quiet smile and longing, appreciative glances were anything to go by. Cleaning wasn’t Dean’s favorite chore, but for Cas, he realized he’d do anything. And Sammy would help clean, too. Dean smirked. Not that the kid knew it yet.

The fields surrounding the Rowleys’ farm looked greener than yesterday. The freak thunderstorm had saved the wilted crops. The shack looked just as forlorn and dilapidated as it had yesterday, though, as they approached it.

Dean set down his load. “You’ll need to nail on a few shingles, Cas.”

“I will.” Castiel pulled on the shack’s door handle. After a brief wrestle, it swung open with a guttural shriek. A rat ran outside, and Sam yelped, jumping sky high. Dean chuckled, which wasn’t very nice, he knew. But what were big brothers for?

Cas slipped inside, and Dean followed. Filth covered the floorboards, which included rat droppings, dirt, hairballs (rat hairs, Dean assumed), leaves and other, unknown objects. An old bed frame rested across the room, near a stone fireplace.

Inside, the hut looked remarkably bigger than it had outside. Spider webs drooped from the ceiling and tangled in thick bunches in the dark corners. Filmy fingers touched Dean’s cheek. Despite himself, he shuddered. “What’s the plan?”

Cas looked around. Pride of ownership and a gleam of hope lit his eyes. Dean wondered if he really saw the dirt at all. Was he envisioning the place as he hoped it might become? “We’ll sweep out the floors, and knock down the webs. We’ll need water for scrubbing, too.”

Dean swept the floor, shoveling every sort of filth that moved and didn’t move out the door and into a pile beside the front door. It included broken pots, a vase, filthy scraps of cloth, and other items he didn’t want to take a guess at. Cas used the mop to knock down spider webs, and Sam dipped up a bucket of water from the stream and lugged it back.

Next, Dean and Cas hauled the bed frame outside and Sam swept it hard with the broom while the other two spilled water and disinfectant on the floor inside, and set to work with scrub brushes. Then Sam cleaned the windows (which remarkably weren’t broken), while Castiel finished cleaning the fireplace. Finally, Dean and Sam hauled the bed back inside. The bare shack was clean, including the two shelves located near the door.

Castiel smiled. “I like it. I’ll use the money I earn to buy a straw mattress, and other items I need.” Wonder lit his gaze, likely at the thought that he’d actually be earning money soon.

Dean dumped the bag on the ground. Iron horseshoes, bunches of garlic, and other items spilled onto the floor. “We’re going to make this place into a bunker,” he vowed. He poured salt around the shack’s foundation, and then hung a rowan tree branch, a brass bell, garlic and a horseshoe over the front door. He hung additional horseshoes over the windows, fireplace, and finally, on the bed’s headboard.

Dean wiggled his eyebrows. “Maybe it’ll bring you luck with the ladies.”

Cas mimicked Sam’s rolling eyes movement. “Perhaps it will give me sweet dreams, Dean.”

“And who would you be dreaming about?” he said softly.

Cas blushed bright red, and looked away.

“So you _do_ have a chick in mind,” Dean teased, although an odd, uncomfortable feeling stuck in his gut for a second. Cas was such a closed book. He’d had no idea the guy was interested in someone. It must be a girl from Cas’s own world. “Who is she?” He wiggled his brows again. “Wanna go to the village and point her out?”

Sam pulled a bitch face. “You are such a douche, Dean. Can’t you see Cas is uncomfortable? You’re such a nosy parker.”

Dean chucked a dirty sponge at Sam’s head, which resulted in a brief tussle on the clean floor. Although it was tougher than it had been a few years ago, Dean swiftly subdued Sam’s flailing limbs, and rubbed his knuckles hard into Sam’s scalp.

“Jerk!” Sam rolled free.

“Bitch.” Dean grinned.

Castiel ignored the roughhousing, in favor of gazing around his new home with a content, happy smile.

A thought crossed Dean’s mind. He’d seen a broken vase in the mess he’d swept outside. While Cas set his meager belongings on the shelves, Dean grabbed the chipped vase and ran to the stream to clean it. Then he added water and a handful of the long-stemmed, blue larkspur which grew near the barn.

Sam and Cas waited for him outside the shack when he returned. That’s when Dean looked at the gift in his hands. _Flowers._ What was he _thinking?_

Never mind. He shoved the vase into Cas’s hands. “House warming gift,” he muttered. “Thought it might cheer the place up.”

Castiel gazed at him, his wide eyes looking as blue as the larkspur in the vase. A small smile bloomed, and it looked full of wonder. “Thank you, Dean.”

Sam just raised an eyebrow. He didn’t say anything, though, which was a good thing, or else Dean might have had to give him another noogie.

Cas set the vase on a windowsill. Much as Dean didn’t want to think more about his corny gift, it did light up the room. The blue flowers soaked in the warm sunshine, imbuing a golden purple hue to the light in the hut.

Castiel carefully shut the door behind them.

“Might want to get a lock,” Dean said. “When you start hoarding your extra cash.”

Cas nodded. He remained silent on the trek back to the cabin. Only a handful of blossoms remained on the twin laurel trees as they passed between them. Sam ran on ahead, and Castiel’s footsteps slowed even more.

“What is, it buddy?” Dean had an idea, though. It was their last night together at the cabin. It was the last time they’d pass through those laurel trees together. Tomorrow would come too soon. He didn’t want to think about that. But Cas clearly did.

“I’m worried, Dean.”

“About the Vortex and the Sphere? Our worlds colliding?”

“Yes.” He bit his lip. “But I’m more concerned about the connection between our worlds. What if it breaks?”

“It might.” Dean didn’t like saying it, but he had to be honest. “We don’t know what caused the connection in the first place. If it’s going to break, I don’t think we can stop it.”

“What if we can? What if the mystery catalyst started this whole thing? If it did, it could end it, too. If we could figure out the source of the catalyst...maybe we can keep the connection open. Forever.” The hope in Cas’s eyes hurt something deep inside of Dean. Because he felt the same way. He didn’t want to lose Cas. Not ever.

He cleared his throat. “Right. So it’s simple. We’ll figure out the mystery catalyst. I’m guessing it’s on your side, Cas. We have a lot of weird ass shi... stuff here. But not a whole lot of magic. You have that in spades.”

Castiel nodded. “I’ll keep watch, and see if anything unusual happens this year.”

“You mean like more mythical monsters showing up at the farm?”

“Or storms. Or... Echna burning strange things in the fireplace.”

“What?” Dean hadn’t heard about that yet.

Castiel sighed. “Last winter, Echna burned something awful in her fireplace. Nearly every day, too. It smelled rotten, and acrid, like metal. It’s hard to describe.”

“That witch is up to no good. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Rowleys are hooked into the whole mystery catalyst thing. If there is one.” Dean felt a quick stab of fear. Should he have killed the Rowleys while he’d had the chance?

But cruelty didn’t merit a death sentence, did it? Although he _did_ hate them for what they’d done to Castiel. He could prove nothing else against them, however. And Dean didn’t want to become a monster.  It was the only topic he prayed to God about. He didn’t want his hunter’s soul to slip over to the dark side. Not for the Rowleys. Not for anyone...except...well, maybe for someone he loved.

Cas nodded. “Next summer, if we meet, I’ll tell you everything that happens.” Solemn blue eyes regarded him. “I know I have no right to ask you this. But if you can, Dean, will you come back? Next summer?”

His throat tightened. He coughed, but it didn’t help. “Of course.” The words seemed to stick in his throat. “Nothing will stop me. I’ll be here.”

“And if, like your father suggested, the gateway between our worlds depends upon our ages, then the year we turn seventeen could be the last year we can meet.”

“Man, way to kill the mood.” Dean’s throat ached.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t want it to happen. But we need to face the possibility.”

“I know.” He clapped Cas on the shoulder. The muscle and bone beneath his fingers felt calm, sturdy, and steady. “It’ll be okay, Cas.”

Melancholy tugged at Castiel’s smile. “I hope so.”

“Come on, man.” Dean urged his friend forward. “Let’s make s’mores tonight. And I’ll beat you at the video game of your choice.”

Cas finally grinned, and it made something lighten in Dean’s chest. In a serious tone, Castiel said, “You may regret that.”

Dean soaked in the joy of seeing Cas smile. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ll ever regret anything with you.”


	22. Chapter 22

Castiel and Dean stayed up late after the s’mores, just talking in their adjacent beds. They rambled about everything under the sun, and tried to fit in as much time together as possible before the night ended. Before their time together could draw to a close. As dawn lightened the sky, they finally fell asleep.

At noon, John woke them by good-naturedly snatching the blankets off of their beds. After lunch, and after the Winchesters had packed up, Castiel said goodbye to Sam and John.

“See you next year, Cas,” Sam grinned, and behind him, John smiled.

He smiled back, although his heart felt as heavy as an boulder in his chest. “I’ll look forward to seeing you then,” he agreed.

Dean walked with Castiel to the twin laurel trees. Only a few blossoms still clung to the branches now. Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked anywhere but Cas. Finally, he gazed at the sky and cleared his throat. “Man, this is hard.”

Castiel decided to make the first move. “Goodbye, Dean.” He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his friend. He hugged him tight, and slowly Dean’s arms came around him and returned the pressure, tightening just before Cas let go.

Castiel stepped back. Although Dean didn’t like chick flick moments, the thin, suspicious sheen in his green eyes matched the moisture blurring Castiel’s own vision. His throat ached, but he kept his voice steady. “See you next year.”

“Next year. Yeah. See you then. On our birthday. Want to meet at the fire pit? Or at your house?”

“The fire pit. And if that doesn’t work out, let’s meet here, at the laurel trees, when it gets dark.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dean’s lips twitched into a poor smile. “See ya on the flip side, Cas.”

“See you then,” Castiel agreed quietly. Although it was the hardest thing he’d ever done, he gave Dean one final, somber smile, and turned and walked between the laurel trees. When he glanced back over his shoulder—because he couldn’t help it—the ghostly image of Dean watched him. And as Cas turned away again, Dean’s arm swiped beneath his eyes.

Castiel walked steadily on, his heart sinking further with every step he took. He didn’t want to leave Dean. He didn’t want to say goodbye. He didn’t want to return to his own world. Not now. _Not ever._ Tears spilled down his cheeks, and by the time he reached the shack, rough sobs ripped at his chest, shredding into his soul like knives.

Rain pattered down outside as he burrowed under his new blanket on the hard bed, and curled up in a tight ball of misery. He missed Dean. Another, very long year stretched ahead.


	23. Chapter 23

Year 2017

 

The Rowleys paid Castiel on time, and in full each week, but if Echna’s glares could curse Castiel, he’d be living in misery. Wait. He was.

Castiel worked like a demon, hoping it would make the time would pass more quickly. It didn’t. He tried not to think about how many days stretched between now and next June. He failed.

He’d built up quite a stack of coins in a small wooden chest when he finally realized he was rich. At least in Delphoin terms. He’d used his first payment to replace Ana’s family’s olive wood table. Next, he bought his own food, since he didn’t trust anything the Rowleys touched. Over the following weeks he’d also bought a small stove, a straw mattress and blankets, a table and two chairs, and curtains for the windows of his shack. He needed nothing else. So what should he do with the rest of his money?

Castiel visited the bank, where he met Ana’s father, Harry Purcival, for the first time. In fact, he didn’t realize he was Ana’s father until Harry greeted Castiel by name.

“Castiel! Ana and my wife have told me a lot about you. How can I help you today?”

Cas shook the man’s proffered hand, and placed his heavy wooden chest on the counter and lifted the lid. “I’m not sure what to do with all of my money, Mr. Purcival,” he admitted.

“Harry.” The man laughed. “And I wish I had your problem. The Rowleys are paying you quite a sum. Of course, you earn it. The whole town is grateful you came back. Without the water, Ana would be dead. And the rest of us would be a lot worse off.” He paused. “Thank you for bringing us a free bucket every week.”

“It’s nothing. Really.” Compliments made Cas feel uncomfortable. He’d much rather divert the attention away from himself. A question, which had crossed his mind several times over the last few weeks, but which he’d never articulated, escaped from his lips now. “Do you know why the Rowleys didn’t sell water while I was gone? Even their garden looked dry when I got home.” _Home._ Castiel’s whole soul revolted against calling the farm “home.” It felt like a prison, where he must live for the rest of his life, or else he’d die.

“Best guess is, they need the water just as much as you do.”

“Then why not pump it themselves? And sell it?”

Harry’s brows climbed his high forehead. “Maybe only _you_ can pump the water?”

Facts clicked. And Castiel suddenly felt incredibly stupid. “So that’s what the note meant.”

_If you take care of Castiel, he will take care of you._

Of course. _He_ had always pumped water for the shop, and for the vegetable garden, and for the healthy animals. Castiel wasn’t sure how he’d survived as a baby, but perhaps that had been a grace period, until he’d grown enough to need the full strength of his mother’s milk—the well. Ever since Castiel could pull the pump lever, the Rowleys had forced him to pump water. He also remembered that the note in his baby trunk had been ripped in half. The missing half had probably told the Rowleys how to care for him as a baby, and how Castiel would care for them as he grew older.

“Castiel?” Harry said. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes, thank you, Mr. Purcival.”

“Harry. And you wanted to find a purpose for your money?”

“I have so many coins...” Castiel didn’t know how to express what was bothering him. It seemed wrong, somehow, for him to have so much, when so many of his friends had so little.

And then the best idea in the world struck, like lightning in a spring storm. “Harry!” he said, with mounting excitement. “Could I use the money to build houses?”

“Of course. You could build several homes with what you’ve earned already.”

“Then that is what I would like to do. Please tell me how to go about it.”

Harry recommended that Castiel deposit all of his weekly earnings into the bank, and then Harry would give Cas a running total of his wealth each month. He also made a list of reputable builders and tradesmen. He recommended that Castiel meet with them and get cost estimates. Harry seemed just as excited as Castiel when the long conversation ended.

“You’re a generous man, Castiel. You will be a blessing to this town.”

Cas felt embarrassed. “I just want to help.”

“And I want to help _you_.” And then Harry added in a confidential tone, “I’m glad you’re not converting all of your money to gold, and hoarding it in your house, like the Rowleys. But I do recommend that you take out a portion each week in gold and keep it hidden in a safe place. A bank is only as secure as its locks. And I don’t want you to lose the money you’ve worked so hard to earn, Castiel.”

“Thank you. That’s a good idea.” While Harry disappeared to convert a third of his income to gold coins, Castiel pondered what the bank manager had said. Why did the Rowleys trade out all of their silver coins for gold? And what did they do with it? He’d certainly never seen any signs of gold or expensive items in their home. Their shack was run down, and the furniture inside worn.

Suspicious. Just like the smoke that spiraled out of Echna’s chimney, starting on November 1st again this year. By that time, Castiel had helped the homeless community build five new homes on a purchased plot of land near the river. The homes amply housed his friends, and now a cook house was scheduled to be completed before the snow flew.

James, Hazel, and the others had finally stopped thanking Castiel. Their thanks embarrassed him, and made him feel uncomfortable. He just wanted to help. It was the only thing that made him feel happy; the only thing that made his life feel worth living. He worked like the devil six days a week, and spent the seventh day with his friends. Ana came by quite often, skipping rope, or imploring him to push her on the swing whenever he had a free moment.

“I’m almost eight now,” she informed him, kicking her feet out on the swing, pale blond hair flying. “I don’t really need pushes,” she admitted, although he already knew that. “But I like to spend time with you, Castiel.”

He smiled. “I like to spend time with you, too, Ana.” Cas sat on a bench and watched her swing higher, and higher.

“You’re not happy,” she announced, feet soaring into the sky. “Why not?”

Castiel shook his head, although the child wasn’t watching. “It’s a long story.”

“I miss Dean, too,” Ana said unexpectedly. “But not _Sam_. When will they come back?”

“My birthday. Midsummer’s Eve.”

“That’s a long time.” Silence elapsed, and then she said, “My birthday is on the Winter Solstice. Did you know that?”

“You mentioned that last year.”

“We’re equinox babies.” She giggled. “Maybe we’re twins separated by birth.”

“I’m almost nine years older than you are. I don’t think that is possible.”

“Spirit twins,” she chirped, as if she knew what she was talking about. As if she wasn’t making it up. Although she probably was. Castiel had learned long ago that Ana possessed quite the imagination. He hadn’t heard any more about her “real” mother visiting again, though. He wondered if she’d forgotten about that fantasy.

“I want you to be happy, Cas,” Ana told him, out of the blue. “I’m going to pray for you. For your dearest wish to come true. I’ll wish on a star, every night.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Castiel didn’t want to be a burden to the child. “I’m happy, Ana, talking with you, right now.”

“You can’t fool me. And I’m gonna wish. Can’t stop me. Now push me, pretty please? My legs are getting tired.”

Castiel wasn’t sure if he believed that she was tired, but it was hard to say “no” to her blinding, trusting grin. He was so lucky to have friends like Ana, James, Hazel, and the others. What was more, he was making a positive difference in the lives of many Delphoins. Perhaps his life did have meaning in his world, after all.


	24. Chapter 24

Dean killed a lot of vamps that fall. The blood pouring from their severed necks made him feel sicker by the day. They were monsters, sure. But first they had been human. But the vamps turned them into victims, and afterward into inhuman fiends. And then Dean killed them.

The battle never seemed to end, although he did devote a few hours each day to his high school correspondence studies. After each night’s hunts, Dean felt covered in blood, even after taking long, sizzling hot showers. If he believed it was possible, he’d think the vamps’ blood sickness infected his soul, and poisoned his heart. ...And sucked him toward their dark underworld, where he’d never escape—if he let himself fall that far. He tried hard not too think too much down that dark path.

In mid-December, his father reported that only one vampire nest remained in Wisconsin. After they cleaned that out, they’d take a break. But a day later, rumors of a werewolf outbreak flew from hunter cell phone to cell phone. If they didn’t arrive by Christmas, New York City would be under lockdown by New Years. Yeah. Like the big city people would lockdown. Those city slickers would never hole up in their cozy apartments while the New Year’s ball dropped. Nope.  They’d stuff themselves into Times Square; a wall to wall human gorgefest for the werewolves.

The upcoming battle promised horrors to rival any Christmas nightmare. Dean almost asked John if he could visit with Bobby and Sam during Christmas, just to escape it. But he didn’t. He was a hunter. And this was his purpose in life. To hunt things. To save people. ...Even if some of those people lived as innocent victims during the day, and turned into bloodthirsty werewolves at night.

An all too familiar feeling—bile that tasted like blood—rose in his throat. Dean had seen too much blood lately, smelled too much of it. He felt sick from its poison. And things were about to get so much worse. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean dropped his head into his palms and whispered, “God help me. Don’t _let_ me turn into them. I don’t want to be one of those soulless bastards.”

That night—the night before he and his father drove to New York—he dreamed of Cas, and of swimming in the spring fed pool, as they’d done so long ago. And he dreamed of handing the vase of larkspur to his friend, and Castiel’s smile of wonder. Dean wanted to hold onto those wholesome moments, when his soul felt pure, and his heart happy and at peace.

He dreamed of Cas.


	25. Chapter 25

On Christmas Day, thick black clouds clustered overhead. It hadn’t snowed yet this year, and Castiel glanced at the sky, wondering if a month’s worth of snow would unload all at once.

Nothing happened. However, the clouds remained. One day passed. Then three, then fifteen. The dark grey clouds hovered like a shadow over the land. As if a menace waited, patiently watching for the perfect opportunity to attack.

Then, in mid-January, a terrible flu broke out in Delphoi. Everyone got it, including Castiel. However, the well water reduced his symptoms to one day of a blazing fever and scratchy throat, followed by three days of hoarse coughing. Ailing Delphoin residents flocked to the Rowleys’ shop, begging Echna to reduce the water prices. Two babies had already died. Echna, however, increased the cost of each bucket from three drachmas to five.

It infuriated Castiel. Of course, he already brought free water to Ana’s family, and he’d smuggled several buckets to his homeless friends in their new, tiny settlement they’d named Athina, too. If he could, he’d smuggle buckets to residents in Delphoi, as well, but he did not like stealing, and it _had_ feel like stealing, bringing the water to Athina. His efforts had probably saved Hazel’s life, which salved his conscience a little.

When Castiel had recovered enough that he could finally talk without erupting into a coughing fit, he confronted Echna and Ty. Both scowled when he approached the shop’s front steps.

“No,” Ty told him. “Get back to work.”

“People are dying. They need help.”

“Then quit yammering, and get those buckets down here.”

“But they can’t afford...”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Ty jabbed a finger toward the well. “Get to _work._ ”

Helpless fury simmered in Castiel. Perhaps he _would_ need to smuggle buckets to Delphoi...

“And if you steal more water for your friends, I will double the price,” Echna hissed.

Castiel turned his back and strode up the hill. Anger churned inside him, matching the eddying flakes finally drifting from heaven. He pumped two buckets of water and carried them directly to Delphoi’s town square. He cupped hands to his mouth and shouted, “Free well water!”

Residents came running. “I’ll bring more,” he promised. “Sickest people drink first.” Harry arrived, and took over organizing people into groups, while Castiel ran back up the hill and pumped more water. Echna watched him run up and down the hill three times in the thickening snow. A snarl contorted her features. Ty was nowhere to be seen.

The freezing wind continued to pick up, biting into Castiel’s coat, and stinging his ears when he delivered his fifth load; a total of ten buckets. All of the water had already disappeared, and carried to the sickest Delphoin residents. Snow fell thickly now, crunching beneath his boots, and the wind whistled through the town. For the first time, Castiel grew worried. _Could_ he bring enough water for the people of Delphoi? The storm had finally arrived, and he wasn’t sure how many more trips he could manage if it turned into a blizzard.

He managed five more trips, and by then the snow slogged about his shins, and he could barely see fifty feet ahead of him.

In the town square, a bundled up Harry Purcival clapped him on the shoulder and shouted above the howling wind. “You’ve done enough. Go home. Stay safe.”

“But...” People still huddled in the square, including old women with scarves over their heads. Several held out beseeching hands to him. “But people will _die._ ” His voice broke.

“ _You_ will die if you don’t go home. You’ve done all you can. Now go.” Harry shoved at his shoulder. Castiel felt terrible. He’d tried to help, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t save everyone. And he blamed the Rowleys for it. If they had helped the sick from the beginning, people would not have died. People would not _still_ be dying.

Thunder growled as he trudged uphill. The snow swirled faster, biting cold, stinging flecks into his skin. He hated the Rowleys. He perfectly and truly hated the selfish old couple. He knew it was wrong to hate, but he couldn’t help it.

Echna yanked open the shop door as Castiel plodded by. She screamed, “You won’t be paid this week!”

He ignored her. He didn’t care.

In his dark shack, Cas shut the door and lit a fire. Earlier, during the fall, he’d fixed the roof and strengthened the walls. He was glad of that now, as the shrieking, malevolent storm winds buffeted his tiny house, making it shudder. Cold wind even swirled down the chimney and tried to quench the tiny, flickering flames.

Castiel fed more dry timber into the fire, encouraging the flames. In a strange way, as he battled the wind, it felt like he battled the Rowleys. This fire would burn bright and flourish. The storm would not kill it. Just as the Rowleys would not defeat him.

*****

The blizzard was the worst Castiel had ever experienced. He used a rope, attached to his shack and to the barn, to travel back and forth to take care of the animals, and to bring food and water back to his home. The shrieking storm raged for seven days, and then, finally, calm descended, late one afternoon. Weak rays of sunlight filtered through the first break in the clouds.

A quick trip to Delphoi revealed broken, battered homes. The flu had taken thirty people, and the storm took a dozen. The village had lost a tenth of its residents in only one month. Athina still stood, and Castiel was glad. But the Rowleys...the Rowleys must hate him now, more than ever. It scared him, for he didn’t know what they might do next.

*****

Ty didn’t leave him wondering for long. As soon as the sun peeked out the next morning, he accosted Castiel in the barn and snarled, “Bring Henry to the butcher’s shop.”

The hog was well past prime butchering. Castiel knew that. But the ornery pig had grown on him. He had made a small, cranky home for himself in Castiel’s heart. And adding to the nostalgia, he’d first met Dean in Henry’s pig pen, when Dean had scooped up slop to eat from the greedy pig’s trough.

“Henry?” His spirits fell, and it must have shown, for satisfaction gleamed in Ty’s eyes, and a smile curled his lips.

“ _Today,_ ” Ty snapped, when Castiel still hesitated, grappling with the sudden order. Usually, the Rowleys butchered pigs in the summer and sold the meat to the butcher. Summer was better for drying the meat, and for making jerky and salt pork.

“But why?” he finally managed.

Ty’s cold smile and steady gaze told Castiel why. His disobedience had cost the hog his life. Ty had ordered Henry’s death to punish Castiel. Somehow, Ty had figured out—although Castiel had no idea how, since the man had no heart—that the swine meant something to him. And now Ty wanted to punish him.

“Do it now. This morning. The butcher will get the best price if he can cut him up by noon.”

Castiel felt sick, and alarming tears stung his eyes. “Fine,” he said shortly.

Ty stared at him for a moment longer, and then strode down the hill to the shop. No doubt he’d watch to make sure he followed orders.

Tying up Henry and directing the recalcitrant pig down the long hill was the hardest thing Castiel had ever done. He didn’t want to take the money from the butcher, who eyed Henry like a prize animal, and with an approving gleam in his eyes. Cas made it halfway up the hill before he heard Henry’s death scream.

He dropped the money on the shop’s step and strode quickly into the woods for privacy. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Once under cover of the woods, he ran, gasping for air, his chest feeling tight, and agony searing through his heart. Henry. Henry was dead, and it was all his fault.

He didn’t know where was going until the twin, bare branches of the laurel trees appeared before him. The twin sentinels looked lonely. Forsaken. Just how he felt.

Desperately, Castiel ran between them, wanting to escape from his world. Wanting to escape to Dean’s world. Wanting to find _Dean._ To find peace and safety. To not be _alone_ anymore.

But on Dean’s side, no pine trees soared into the sky. Castiel still remained in his own world.

“ _No,_ ” he whispered. “No!” He spun about, feeling even more desolate. Had the connection broken? Would he ever see Dean again?  Castiel sank to his knees and wept.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warning for a short, disturbing scene of violence

The werewolf outbreak lasted for months in New York City. It didn’t help that the beasts only emerged on two days on either side of the full moon. Dean hoped the hunt would end by June 11th, but no matter what happened then, he meant to jump in his Impala and drive day and night, if necessary, to visit Cas on their birthday.

John, on the other hand, believed they’d need to stay in New York all summer long.

“I’m leaving in mid-June,” Dean told his father. “I’ll meet up with you at Bobby’s later.”

John sighed. “I want to end this, too, son. I miss Sam, and it would be good to take a week off at the cabin. But it’s clear across the country. Son...”

“I’m going. Period.” Dean stared his father down.

His father sighed again. “All right. We’ll take a two week break. I’ll rent the cabin for five days. After that we’re coming back, if the battle is still on.”

“Okay.”

A month remained until the June 9th full moon. Dean thought he could handle it; he thought he could survive two more full moons—ten more days of killing people who were normal by day and man eating monsters by night.

He preferred to kill the werewolves at night, when they were in their full werewolf glory. And that was the good thing about this particular outbreak—the beasts turned fully into werewolves, including long fur, claws; the whole works. Few traces remained of their true human form.

But sometimes Dean wasn’t able to track down the killers until dawn, when they changed back into humans, looking confused and lost, and frequently lying stunned on the street. He felt like a monster then—a murderer, when he killed them. His soul felt blacker every time he had to do it. It tortured him, every victim who screamed at him, and begged him with bewildered eyes, with blood dripping from their mouths from their latest victim. Sometimes Dean closed his eyes when he stabbed them through the heart with his silver knife.

He always felt sick afterward. Sometimes he threw up. He always felt like shit.

On their last day in New York, on June 11th, they got a lead on the most vicious killer of all. It had already killed a hundred people, and that was a conservative estimate.

They couldn’t figure out how this particular werewolf got into people’s homes and killed them. It appeared they _let_ the werewolf in. It was smart, too, and avoided surveillance. It left no survivors.  Someone finally phoned in a tip in a Harlem tenement, and John scouted one end of the 21st floor, and Dean the other as the rising sun crested the horizon.

And then Dean heard snarling. He pulled out his silver knife and sidled to the open door. Pale sunlight glowed behind the curtained window. Strange that this particular werewolf still prowled about at this hour of the morning. Usually it tucked up into bed by midnight.

Dean took a quick breath and glanced into the room. On the floor he spotted the victim, his face slack-jawed, his bloody throat ripped out. Dean couldn’t see the werewolf, although smacking, slurping sounds reached his ears.

“Okay, you son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Ready or not, here I come.”

He pivoted into the doorway just as the sun slipped through a crack in the curtains and spilled onto the floor near the foot...the tiny foot...of the werewolf. The beast glanced up, and its hair melted from brown into gold. It lunged at him, snarling, as its face swiftly transformed into that of a little blond girl. A girl who looked like Ana.

“What?” he gasped. “ _No_.”

With a feral scream, the half-girl/half werewolf attacked him, knocking him onto his back, claws ripping into his shirt. Pain seared his skin, and even as his whole soul vomited _‘no’_ and as the girl’s eyes transformed from feral to bewildered, he grabbed his silver knife with both hands and jammed it through the child’s heart.

“Mommy.” A tiny whimper left her throat. “ _Mommy..._ ”

“Damn it to hell!” Gasping and shaking, Dean shoved her body off of him and stumbled for the door.

John appeared in the hall. In one glance, he took in the blood on Dean’s shirt. “Dean! Are you all right?”

“She’s dead.” Dean swallowed hard. He shoved by him. “She’s dead.”

John took one step into the room, and his face twisted. He looked back at Dean, who felt like someone had stabbed him through the heart. “Son. It’s over. You did the right thing.”

“Then why do I feel like a piece of _crap?_ How am I not a monster, like her?”

“Dean.”

Dean took off down the hall. That was it. The final straw. He’d crossed the line from human to inhuman, and he couldn’t stand himself any longer.


	27. Chapter 27

Dean left the Impala at Bobby’s, and then he, Sam, and John rode to the cabin in John’s beat up old Ford sedan. Just driving to Bobby’s had been a challenge. Dean quit throwing up after the first couple of hours, but his stomach felt empty and his soul even emptier as they crossed from New York into Pennsylvania, then Ohio, and on, ever heading west. They rested at Bobby’s for a couple of days, and arrived at the cabin on June 19th.

Dean fell into a deep sleep, and nearly slept the clock around. His father and Sammy eyed him with concern when he woke up and refused to eat lunch. He’d eaten little, and said even less over the last ten days. His soul felt raw, his blood felt sick, and tainted. Nothing John said helped. Even his brother’s teasing barbs only helped a little.

Dean needed to escape from this world, and from all the filth he carried with him. He longed for a clean slate, and for balm and relief for his blistered soul.

He longed for Cas. He yearned for his friend’s steady, understanding blue gaze, and his smile, which somehow made Dean feel like everything would be all right. His friend’s simple trust in Dean made him feel good, and whole, like a real person. Even if he did not deserve that now.

He did _not_ deserve that now.

That early evening on his birthday, on Midsummer’s Eve, Dean headed out. John stood in the cabin doorway. “When will you be back?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said shortly. He didn’t look back. He slipped into the cool pine forest. Ferns stretched cool, ethereal fronds over the old path, hiding it, but he knew the way like the back of his hand. He’d walked it often enough in his dreams.

Ahead, the twin laurel trees burst with purple blossoms, and a foreign emotion expanded hard in his chest. It felt an awful lot like hope. Dean strode faster, and slipped between the trees.

Fresh new scents tantalized his nose. A bonfire. Birch trees. Cas’s trees. Cas’s world. Dean walked faster beneath the fading blue sky, heading for the stream. Soon he would see Castiel.

Cas had been at the fire pit. Dean’s steps slowed when he reached their agreed upon meeting point. A long forgotten emotion...happiness...trickled into his heart. A blanket lay folded up on top of a rock, and a plate covered by a wicker bowl waited next to a smoldering fire. Cas was nowhere to be seen, however.

Dean settled onto a rock to wait. The food smelled good, though. He hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours, and the longer he smelled the succulent, roasted meat, the more his mouth watered and his stomach rumbled. A shadow slid through the woods, as if a slender cloud drifted over the setting sun.

Where was Cas, anyway? Dean hadn’t seen him on the way to the fire pit, for he’d avoided both the field and the barn. He didn’t want the Rowleys to spot him. ...Although they must be stoking up their bonfire again, if the burning smoke was any indicator.

Had the Rowleys attacked Castiel again? Was he lying somewhere, hurt? Anxiety tightened in Dean’s gut, eliciting another angry growl from his neglected stomach. If Cas was hurt, Dean would need his strength. Maybe he should take one small bite, just to fortify himself. Then he’d scout out the farm and locate his friend.

Dean’s fingers shook a little when he raised the wicker bowl from the plate. Delicious smells kissed his nose. Perfectly seared meat, tender baked potatoes, and freshly baked rolls and butter loaded the plate. He didn’t know which to try first.

Just one bite, he told himself, raising one of the rolls to his lips. His teeth sliced through the tender bread. It melted like the most delicate pastry in his mouth. Carefully, he slathered on a little butter and told himself it would be okay if he finished this one roll. He’d leave the other for Cas.

The roll disappeared within moments. If possible, Dean felt even hungrier. More slithering shadows slid through the forest. Part of his mind wondered if a storm was coming, but he could think about little else but the food. The meat smelled like the best steak he had ever eaten. Maybe he could try just one bite. He grabbed it in his bare hands, tore off a piece, and chewed. He closed his eyes. _So good._ He ripped off another bite, and then another.

Dean hadn’t known he was so hungry. He felt ashamed of scarfing down the food Cas had worked so hard to prepare, without even waiting for his friend to arrive. He finished the baked potato a few moments later, and stared down at his dark, greasy hands. When was the last time he’d attacked his food like a wild animal? His face felt greasy, too. Feeling even more disgusted with himself, he washed up in the stream, and then settled back on the rock. He owed Cas a giant apology, that was for sure.

Dusk slid over him, reminding him of long, twining fingers, and swirled around the rock, sliding into the stream. His stomach twisted, and then it twisted again, harder. It hurt. “Uhn,” he muttered, massaging his abdomen. A second later, fierce pain shot from his gut up into his rib cage. Dean doubled over, releasing a surprised moan. The pain twisted harder, feeling like a knife slicing him open from the inside out. “ _Ahhh!_ ”

Dean had never felt such agony in his life. He rolled off the rock and curled up in the dirt, hoping to ease the hot, stabbing pains. It didn’t help. His last werewolf kill slid through his mind. He had stabbed the girl in the gut. Ana. Is this what she’d felt like when she’d died? Was this his punishment?

Dean had finally turned into a monster, and this world—Cas’s magical world—would make him pay. In spades.

He deserved it.


	28. Chapter 28

Castiel hurried through the woods, clutching a bottle of fresh water, and two bags. One contained freshly baked meat pastries, and inside the other nestled sugar dusted fruit tarts, which he’d bought from the village baker. He hoped Dean would like both. But most of all he prayed, as he had over the last six months, that the magical laurel trees would allow Dean to cross over into his world again.

Castiel had visited the laurel trees two days ago. At that time, multitudes of flower buds threatened to pop into blossoms. He’d tried to enter Dean’s world again, but had failed. But maybe... _maybe_ the gateway only opened up when the trees’ flowers bloomed.

The buds should have popped by now, but Castiel had not had time to check today, for Ty had kept him running since the crack of dawn. Ty had also demanded that Castiel work far later than usual into the evening. It appeared as though he knew Castiel wanted to finish work early on this Midsummer’s Eve, and so he piled on extra weeding, barn repairs...anything, in Castiel’s opinion, to his waste time, all day long.

Finally, Cas escaped when Ty returned to his house to presumably prepare for the bonfire and fireworks display tonight. Again, he wondered why the Rowleys hadn’t put on the bizarre ritual last year. But to be honest, right now he didn’t care very much. Dean might be here. He might already be at the fire pit.

When Castiel pushed between the last trees that obscured the fire pit, his first impression was of emptiness. No one was there. But...an unfamiliar blanket lay folded on a rock. And smoke curled up from the fire pit. “Dean?” Hope lilted his voice as he hurried forward.

“ _Ahhunhh_.”

“Dean?” Castiel spotted blue jean clad legs, partially hidden by a large boulder, and ran around the obstruction, heart in his chest. He found his friend curled up in a tight ball, writhing on the pebble-strewn dirt. “ _Dean!_ What happened? Are you hurt?”

Dean groaned. “Cas,” he gasped. “Not...exactly...how I hoped...things would go.”

“ _What happened?_ ”

“Ate...the food.” Dean’s face looked pale, blending like ash into his short, golden brown hair.

“What food?” Bewildered, Castiel glanced around. He saw nothing but the blanket.

“The...plate. Aaahhh!” Tears squeezed from his eyes.

Castiel felt panicked, and helpless, too. “I don’t see a plate, Dean. But you ate something?”

He didn’t answer; just groaned in whimpering misery.

Castiel remembered back to when he’d eaten the Rowleys’ poisoned food. Dean had made him throw it up. Maybe following the same method would help his friend now. He hauled him up into a sitting position. Dean groaned louder, looking pitifully weak and miserable.

“Throw it up,” Cas commanded. “Come on. Throw it up, Dean.”

Dean fell forward onto his knees and gagged. He gagged again and again, but nothing except for a long string of spit drooled out of his mouth. “I don’t...understand,” he gasped. “I ate...all that food! I was a pig.”

Castiel wondered what was going on. Dean didn’t appear to be delusional. He believed he had eaten something, but any evidence had vanished. And no food appeared to be in his stomach, either.

“Perhaps it was an enchantment. Maybe the Rowleys...” _The Rowleys!_ Of course. Ty had lured Castiel far away from the fire pit all day long. Anger flared in him, sizzling as hot as a summer storm.

“Cas.” Dean tipped sideways, his face pale with agony, and Castiel hauled him back up against his own chest, holding Dean steady with an arm around his shoulders. He uncapped his bottle and pushed it to Dean’s lips.

“Drink.”

His friend groaned, spasming forward, clutching his knees to his chest. “Cas. I can’t. Just...just let me die. I deserve it.”

Castiel yanked Dean upright again and tipped his body backward, so he rested on Cas’s arm, his face tilting toward the sky. Cas pushed the bottle to his lips again, and water splashed over Dean’s mouth. “Drink!” Castiel growled. “Dean!”

Slowly, he parted his lips and his throat worked, swallowing down the healing well water.

“More,” Castiel insisted.

Dean moaned again, his features contorted in agony. When the new spasm eased a little, Cas urged him to drink again.

After Dean had managed to drink a fifth of the bottle, Cas stopped forcing it on him. That should be enough to help, if he had been poisoned by natural methods. If he’d been poisoned with an enchantment... Castiel didn’t know. He knew little about enchantments; he’d only heard stories at the homeless camp, and he wasn’t even sure if those were real, or fiction.

Long minutes passed. It became clear Dean wasn’t getting any better. In the deepening dusk, his tanned face looked a sickly puce, and he remained curled up tight, body partially angled away from Castiel, as he if wanted to exclude Cas from his drama. To spare Castiel from witnessing his misery.

A small, cool breeze touched Castiel’s skin, bringing with it the scent of wood smoke. The bonfire. _The Rowleys._ Anger churned in his gut. They had done this to Dean. He knew it.

_And they would fix it._

“Come on, Dean. Stand up. Can you?” He crawled to his knees and urged his friend to do the same.

“Cas. No, man. I can’t.” Dean curled further in on himself and slumped sideways, onto the earth. “Sorry,” he whispered.

Breathing hard with uncertainty and fear, Castiel wavered for a moment. He didn’t want to leave his friend. “The Rowleys did this to you. I’m sure of it. I’m going to make them fix it.”

Dean panted softly. “Don’t leave...” Then he licked his lips and took a slow, shaky breath. “Go... Good luck.”

Still not entirely certain he was doing the right thing, and his soul feeling like it was being torn in two, Cas placed a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Dean did not reply. Just squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

Castiel vaulted across the stream and sprinted through the woods for the bonfire, which glowed brightly in the swiftly deepening, dark twilight.

He didn’t see Ty. However, beside the fire, Echna gazed up at the sky, her body undulating to silent music. Rapture glowed on her face, and her long fingers squiggled toward heaven. “Yes,” she hissed, “Yes!”

Castiel grabbed her arm and jerked her to face him. Her face contorted into a hideous mask. “ _Castiel._ ” Her voice slithered, like a snake.

If he was in his right mind, her crazed eyes might frighten him. But fury boiled like a volcano inside of him. He yanked her closer, and she cringed back. He snarled, “What did you do to _Dean?_ ”

She sneered, “Your boyfriend doesn’t belong here.”

“ _Heal him._ Break the enchantment!”

She cackled. “Never!” The old woman yanked free and took a full step back, as if wanting to place a safe distance between herself and Castiel.

“ _Heal him!_ ” His voice boomed like thunder, and his body shook with more emotion than he could control. Far overhead, the heavens growled. Lightning flashed, and a brilliant, dizzying blue bolt hit a tree a few yards west. Cold rain suddenly deluged the earth.

“ _No!_ ” Echna slapped her hands to her forehead and whirled to the bonfire. Rain hissed, drowning the mighty blaze.  “ _No,_ ” she screamed again.

“ _Break the spell!_ ” Castiel thundered. Electricity danced over his skin, and inside he shuddered, filled to overflowing with an emotion he could not name. With a violent, mighty power he could not contain. “Heal him _now!_ ”

Echna spun around. “ _You_ heal him! If you weren’t so stupid, you could _always_ have everything you need!” Her voice sounded bitter. Spiteful. Malignant. She pointed at his chest. “Use your brain, boy!”

Castiel’s hand fell to his chest. To the hagstone beneath his shirt. _Of course._ He turned and bolted for the woods. Behind him, Echna wailed and screamed chants into the sky.

Icy rain soaked his clothes, making them cling to his body by the time he reached Dean. His friend lay shaking in the dirt, barely conscious.

“Dean.... _Dean!_ ” Castiel tugged his necklace cord over his head. According to James, the hagstone could protect anyone from witches, demons, and all manner of evil. Perhaps it could break an enchantment, too.

He slipped the necklace over his friend’s head, and immediately Dean stiffened. His body convulsed, and horrible shriek erupted from his lips. He convulsed again, hard, and then lay very still.

“Dean!” His friend did not respond. “ _Dean!_ ” Castiel pressed his fingers to his neck. A faint pulse twitched.

He needed to get him out of the rain, and somewhere warm and dry. Strong muscles, earned from working on the farm, allowed him to easily lift Dean and hoist him over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his sodden pastry bags. Dean might need food. Real food. A dip of his knees and he grabbed up the bags. Quickly, he strode across the stream and through the forest. Dean lay very still over his shoulder. Too still. Fear clenched hard in Castiel’s chest.

“ _Dean._ ”

Dean shifted. “Cas.” His voice sounded blurred, fuzzy, as if drunk. “You...carrying me like a...wench...Cas?”

A sharp chuckle caught in Castiel’s throat, and he ducked as he entered his small home and shut the door behind him. Carefully, he lay Dean on his bed.

Dean lay very still, but one eye flickered open. “Not fair...for you to have your way with me...when I feel like...shit.”

“Then I will wait until you feel better,” Castiel said dryly.

A weak smile lifted Dean’s lips, but now his body trembled with shivers.

“How are you feeling? Is your stomach better?” Castiel lit a lamp, and warm yellow light cocooned the room.

“Yeah. Your hoodoo—whatever it was—did the trick.”

“You’re wearing my hagstone.”

“Ah.” Dean shivered harder. His teeth clicked. Outside, the storm swept a freezing gale down through the chimney and into the room.

“You’re wet. Soaking.” Cold chilled into Castiel’s own bones, now that he’d relaxed a little, relieved that Dean might be all right. His wet, icy clothes clung to his body.

Swiftly, he pulled clean, dry clothes from a shelf. “You’ll need to take off those wet clothes. Can you sit up?”

Dean rolled to his side and tried to push himself up. His free arm flailed, and Castiel gripped him under the armpits, helping him to sit up straight. Dean hunched forward a little, trembling uncontrollably, teeth chattering, hands gripping the bed so tight his knuckles showed white. His sopping wet clothes clung to his body, making him look miserable. He made no move to take off his long-sleeved overshirt.

Castiel frowned. He didn’t want Dean to sit there and shiver himself into the flu. He reached forward and briskly tugged on one sleeve, pulling the cuff over his knuckles.

Dean knocked his hands aside. “I’m okay. I can do this.” His fingers fumbled, making miserable work of it, but Castiel stepped back and let him try.

Cas lit a fire in the fireplace, and then he stripped, pulled on dry clothes of his own, and ran a towel through his hair. Dean had barely freed one arm from his overshirt by now. Castiel draped the towel over Dean’s head and gave a short, brisk rub. Then, with Dean’s face scrunched up in something that looked like pure misery, Cas used his thumbs to rub Dean’s hair again, but more gently this time.

“Dean.” Castiel knelt on the floor, in order to look his friend in the face. “You’re freezing. Let me help you.”

“Damn it!” But Dean’s shaking fingers dropped to his thighs and he let Castiel finish pulling off his shirt. He also allowed Castiel to tug up his dark T-shirt and peel it over his head. His skin felt clammy and cold against Cas’s fingers. Dean huffed out a laugh. “Are you having your way with me, Cas?”

“Always the jokester, Dean.” Castiel tossed aside the soaked shirt, and tugged on a new one, followed by a new overshirt. His hands hesitated before going to the belt at Dean’s waist. Dean’s gaze met his, and Castiel couldn’t read it. “I got this, Cas.”

Castiel backed away, and turned his back to give Dean privacy. Long, muffled moments later, punctuated by curses, wet jeans hit the floor. Cas tossed the extra pair of jeans he owned over his shoulder. Although his friend was a little taller than he was, they wore the same size.

“Unh.” The bed spring creaked when Dean flopped back on the bed. Castiel turned and saw Dean scrabbling and pulling at the blankets to cover his shaking body. He curled up again into a ball, clearly still miserable.

“What’s wrong? Are you cold? Or do you still feel sick?”

“Damn it, Cas,” he whispered. “I feel like a truck ran over me. Then it backed up and dumped a shitload of ice, too.”

Castiel bit his lip, weighing his options. “I could warm you up.”

Dean squeezed his eyes tighter shut. After long, shuddering moments, his shoulders slumped. “All right.”

Cas crawled into the bed behind him, pulled the blankets over both of them, and tugged Dean back into his arms. His body curved protectively around his friend’s shaking one. Castiel placed his palm flat on Dean’s chest, and his nose close to his neck. It felt comfortable, and peaceful, being with Dean like this. Like it was right where he belonged…at least for this moment in time.

“Man, don’t tell Sammy,” Dean mumbled. “It can’t get any gayer than this.”

“Of course it could, Dean,” Cas said serenely. “But your virtue is safe with me.”

After a short, surprised breath, laughter burst from his chest, which was just what Castiel had hoped for. “If you get me through the night, I might kiss you in the morning.”

Castiel chuckled. “Promises, promises.” Then in a softer, more serious voice, “Sleep well.”

“Sugar plums are dancing….”

Dean’s body gradually relaxed against Castiel’s, and finally, deep, even breaths said he had fallen asleep. Castiel didn’t let go of him, and he couldn’t stop the scared, angry thoughts that took over his mind, once he felt certain that Dean would be all right.

The Rowleys could have killed Dean tonight. They’d deliberately enchanted the food, and had succeeded in enticing his friend to eat it. Dean had been the intended victim, for the Rowleys knew the hagstone would have protected Castiel. More disturbing was the fact they’d known Dean would come. They’d expected him to come. And they’d deliberately set out to kill him. But why?

The answer came all too quickly. The Rowleys knew Castiel cared about Dean a great deal. Adding to that, every time Dean came, the Rowleys suffered a major setback regarding their control over Castiel.

That brought up the question he’d wondered his whole life: Why did the Rowleys hate _him_ so much? Why did they want to hurt him, by any means possible? Didn’t he provide them with everything they needed?

Echna had also sounded bitter tonight when she’d screamed that if he wasn’t so stupid, he could _always_ have everything he needed. What did she mean? How was he stupid? He did possess everything he needed, as far as physical needs, since he now earned a wage for his work on the farm. Was that what she’d meant? Castiel felt like he was missing some data.

Thunder rumbled outside, mirroring the anger festering in his soul. Something had to be done. He would not allow this to happen again. _Never._

Fireworks exploded at midnight, and the bizarre ritual served to deepen the frustrated anger boiling in his soul. Finally, in the wee hours, he fell asleep.


	29. Chapter 29

Dean woke up feeling warm and secure, in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a child, and his mother had tucked him into bed with a soft kiss.

But he wasn’t a child. And no one was kissing him, although Cas’s warm breath puffed gently on the back of his neck. His arm curled protectively around Dean’s midriff.

Every logical atom in Dean’s body ordered him to leap up and remove himself from his close proximity to Cas. However, every _illogical_ part of him couldn’t summon the desire to do so.

Nothing was going on. Castiel had helped him survive the night, that was all.

Dean closed his eyes, telling himself that he could savor the feeling of peace that seeped like sweet honey through his bones. It wouldn’t matter, for just a few more minutes. After the horrible year he’d suffered, when he’d longed to feel peace and healing in his soul...now he had it. Right now, with Cas. And damn it, he’d enjoy it for a little bit longer.

He shifted a little, so he could see over his shoulder. Cas’s dark hair lay in a messy tangle across his forehead, and his thick dark lashes brushed his cheekbones. Faint stubble roughened his jaw, which looked relaxed at the moment, although Dean had seen it mulish and set in obstinate lines more than once before. Usually when something offended his sense of justice, or if someone was hurt, due to another’s cruelty.

Dean shifted onto his back. Cas didn’t stir, and from this angle Dean saw the bruised shadows beneath his eyes. Cas had been worried about him last night, and Dean bet he hadn’t slept well.

Was it weird that he liked lying here, watching Castiel sleep? As far as physical beauty, Cas was as beautiful as that avenging angel he’d first likened him to when Cas had jumped down that ladder and laid into Rowley when they’d first met. Cas was all masculine lines, but purity of soul gave him that other-worldly vibe; like he truly was an angel.

Frankly, on some level, Dean was amazed he could actually spend time with Cas… He sure as hell didn’t deserve anyone so good in his life. Not with the blood guilt that poisoned his soul. With a brief flare of panic, Dean blinked hard, wondering if this was only a dream; if right now, being with his best friend was just a figment of his tarnished, needy imagination. Because he needed Cas. His light and goodness somehow melted into Dean’s soul, healing the darkness and failure that tormented him.

Cas made him feel good about himself like no one ever had before. He knew his dad and Sam loved him. But no one seemed to _get_ him, like Cas, and to accept him, and sincerely _like_ him, just the way he was. Yes, Cas was a gift. And right or wrong, Dean intended to savor every moment this strange life chose to give them together.

Cas’s lashes slid up. Sleepy blue eyes regarded Dean. A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Is it time for my kiss? Or did I miss it?”

Dean groaned, and rolled out of bed. “If I’d kissed you, you’d know it.”

Castiel laughed. “You’re better this morning.” Relief was clear in his rough, gravel on velvet morning voice.

“Now I want to kill some crazy asses who tried to fry my toaster.”

Cas sat up with a frown. “I will deal with them, Dean. You will never be in danger on this farm again.”

Dean huffed out a breath and looked over his shoulder. “Yeah? What’s your plan?” He looked out the window. “It’s still raining. Great.”

“It will stop soon.”

Dean wondered how Cas could possibly know that. But another glance outside proved the sky did seem to be lightening.

“The Rowleys need me.”

“Right. To work the farm.”

“No. They need me to pump the water.”

Now he had Dean’s full attention. “What do you mean?”

“I learned why the Rowleys don’t the pump well water themselves. And why they always ask me to pump it for the store, and for the crops.”

Dean’s eyebrow rose. “Why?”

“The well water is only sweet when I pump it. It only heals when _I_ pump it.”

“Huh.” Dean smiled. Now that he thought about it, it didn’t surprise him. Not at all. Castiel’s other-worldly vibe and this information clicked. It meshed together like pieces of a puzzle. Cas was special. Maybe he _was_ some sort of an angel. “Fantastic. Gives you leverage over those sons of bitches.”

Castiel shook his head. Softly, he said, “They just find new ways to hurt me.”

“What do you mean?” He didn’t like the dark, bitter look in his eyes. “What happened this year?”

Quietly, Cas told him about the flu, and the blizzard and Henry’s death. “And now they’ve tried to poison you, Dean. They may not be able to hurt me directly. But I’m afraid they’ll always find a way to hurt someone I lo....” Cas’s eyes softened, and he blinked. “Someone I care about.”

Dean swallowed hard, and tried to ignore what Cas had almost said. He pulled off the hagstone necklace and handed it over. “Put this on. You need it more than I do.”

Castiel wanted to argue with him. Dean saw it in those dark blue eyes.

“Take it,” he said roughly. “Don’t argue with me, Cas.”

He finally accepted it and slipped it around his neck. “We need to find another one for you, Dean.”

“We need to find more than one. Maybe one for Ana, and whomever else you care about.” He wondered again who the girl might be that Cas had blushed about last summer. “And your girl,” he licked his lips. “Whoever she might be.” He smiled crookedly.

Castiel looked bewildered. His head tilted in confusion. “What girl?”

“Didn’t you have a crush on some girl last summer? Someone you planned to have sweet dreams about...?”

Castiel’s bewilderment transformed into a blush. “I don’t have a special girl, Dean. Do you? Have you met someone this last year?” He appeared to be trying to change the subject.

“Nah. It’s been rough. No time for chicks. But I graduated high school early, from correspondence studies. That’s great. No more schoolwork.”

Cas chewed on his lip, and eyed him. Those blue eyes seemed able to see straight into his soul. And that bothered Dean, because, not for the first time, he wondered if he _could_. He shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want to tell Cas about the darkness that lived inside him now, nor about the horrific acts he’d committed last year, all in the name of saving people. He’d once thought he was a hero. But now he knew that at heart, he was a killer, pure and simple. He swallowed hard.

“Dean. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing. You have any food? I think my stomach is healed up.”

Cas rose to his feet and padded over to a couple of bags that rested on a rustic looking table. “The meat pastries aren’t good any longer, but the fruit tarts should be fine. And I have eggs. How many would you like?” He moved to the stove.

Dean didn’t ask about bacon. “Two. Thanks, Cas.” He watched Cas’s deft hands and square shoulders move with quick efficiency, frying up their breakfast. Last night, Castiel had carried him just as easily as if he’d been the hen who’d laid those eggs.

Okay, he did _not_ just compare himself to a female chicken.

“Did the Rowleys do any weird stuff last year? More weird smoke?”

“Yes. But nothing else. Well, Harry, the banker, did tell me the Rowleys convert all of their money into gold. Apparently, they hoard it up in their house. They don’t spend it.”

“Strange.” Dean thought about this for a moment. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“I know. I take a third of my money in gold, too, and hide it under the floorboard, there.” Cas pointed with his foot to a board tucked under one of the bed’s legs.

Castiel served up breakfast, and while they ate, Dean asked him about the remainder of his money, and how he’d spent it. Cas reluctantly, in Dean’s opinion, told about his involvement in the building of Athina. Dean’s respect and admiration for Castiel grew. The dude was selfless, and mulish to the point of insanity to help others, even when it cost him nearly everything. “You’re amazing, Cas,” he said softly.

The tips of his ears flushed. “Anyone would do the same.”

“No. It is _not_ what anyone would do. Look at the Rowleys, trying to get rich off of a flu.” Dean eyed his friend, who pushed bread around on his plate. “Cas?” he said suddenly. Castiel looked up. “If you could do anything....go anywhere. What would you do?”

“That is simple, Dean.” He solemnly met his gaze. “I would go home with you.”

Unexpected tightness gripped his throat, making it difficult for him to swallow. “I’d like that, Cas. I’d like that, too. Hey, maybe you can take a couple days off. We have the cabin for four days, including today.”

He smiled. “I would like that, Dean.”

“But first, we need to find out what those crazy-assed Rowleys are up to.”

“The rain storm put out their bonfire, but I heard fireworks.”

“That _is_ weird. But I want to find out what Echna’s been burning in the fireplace. And I want to find out how she summoned Orthros. And how they poisoned me.”

“Do you think those things are related?”

“Oh, yeah. And that mystery catalyst? I’ll bet it’s sitting sweet and tight in their cellar. Wanna go check it out?” Dean offered a wolfish grin, and chewed on the last of his pastry.

Castiel’s surprised look hardened into something else entirely. Dean recognized the unyielding set to his jaw.

Castiel said, “I’ll go alone. It’s not safe for you.”

“No way in hell.”

“You need a hagstone. A good one.”

Dean inclined his head. “Done. Hagstone first.”

Cast wiped his mouth and leaned back, regarding Dean. “You’re not going to do something...foolish, are you?”

He smiled. It probably wasn’t pretty. “Like gank those sons of bitches? Yeah. If it comes down to it, I won’t hesitate.” His words sounded cold and bloodthirsty, and he wasn’t proud of them.

“Sometime soon, Dean, you will tell me what happened last year.” Cas’s intense, unwavering blue gaze pinned his.

“Yeah. Fine. Whatever. Ready to go find some hagstones?” He didn’t want to tell Cas about last winter. Because maybe then Castiel’s shining faith in him would tarnish. Dean couldn’t stand that. He wanted Cas to like him. He needed Cas to respect him. And so he would dodge the subject for as long as he could.

Forever, if possible.


	30. Chapter 30

Dean helped Cas with his morning chores, and then they walked into Delphoi.

“Castiel! Dean!” Ana’s small body collided with Dean’s before he knew what was happening. Little arms squeezed him tight. She grinned up at him.

“Ana.” Relief nearly overwhelmed Dean when he saw the little girl. The werewolf he’d killed a week ago flooded his mind. But this Ana—the _real_ Ana—was still alive. She was alive and well. Gently, he hugged her tight, and released her.

“Where’s Sam?” She glanced around with a look of wary anticipation.

“He didn’t come this time, kid.”

“Oh.” A smidge of disappointment flickered. “Just as well. What are you guys doing here?”

“We need to find a hagstone like mine.” Cas pulled it out of his shirt to show her. “James and Hazel don’t know where to find one. Do you know of anyone who might?”

“Daddy might.” She skipped ahead of them to the wooden bank building. They waited their turn in line.

Harry smiled at the little girl, and greeted Cas. When he turned to Dean, and his eyes looked friendly and kind. Dean stuck out his hand. “Dean Winchester. A friend of Cas’s.”

Harry grinned and returned the shake. “I’ve heard plenty about you and your brother, Dean. How can I help you three today?”

Castiel showed Harry his hagstone. “I need to find several more like this one. The coloring must match, and it must be a true hagstone, with the hole worn through by water.”

Harry eyed it. “A hagstone made of sardonyx is valuable, Castiel. It would probably wipe out your entire bank balance, and then some.”

Cas didn’t blink. “I’ll pay whatever price is necessary.”

Dean snorted. “ _No,_ you won’t. Not for me, man.” He glanced at Ana. “Maybe for...”

Cas pointedly ignored him. “Harry?”

“I could probably find one. But I couldn’t get it any time soon. It might take a few months.”

Cas’s shoulders drooped a little. “I would still be interested, Harry. In two, if you can find them.”

“Are you sure?”

“I will pay whatever price is necessary.”

Dean cleared his throat. “He _means_ , he’ll pay the best price you can haggle.”

Harry’s lips twitched into a fleeting smile. “I’ll do the best I can. But I’ll be lucky to find one. Don’t get your hopes up too high, Castiel.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Castiel said solemnly. “I appreciate your help.”

After goodbyes, Ana skipped ahead of them outdoors. “What’s next?” she said, bright-eyed. “Wanna go to the park?”

“We have important business to take care of,” Dean told her. “Grown up business.”

Ana rolled her eyes. “You mean you’re going to do something sneaky. I can tell. I wanna help. Tell me how.”

“No...” Cas began.

“Maybe she _can_ help, Cas.”

Castiel’s brows furrowed at him, but Ana’s eyes brightened with hope. The difference between the two was almost comical. Dean said, “Ana could distract Echna at the shop. Does your mom need produce, Ana? Maybe you two could go and buy a few things.”

“Dean. _No_.” Cas’s voice sounded deeper and rougher than ever.

“Why not? It’ll be safe.”

“What about _Ty?_ ”

“Mr. Growley is at the pub,” Ana grinned up at them. “When you’re done, you’ll hafta tell me what you did. I’ll get Mama now! But I won’t tell her anything. It’ll be top secret.” She scampered off.

Dean and Cas headed back up the hill to the farm. “Dean, I do not like involving Ana.”

“Echna will sell them some food. She’ll be happy. She won’t suspect a thing. Chill, man. It’ll be fine.”

Cas continued to frown, however, as they took up position in the barn to watch for Ana and Priscilla to enter the shop. It didn’t take long.

They hadn’t told Ana how long to distract Echna, so they hurried back down the hill, out of sight of the shop, and slipped in the Rowley’s front door.

Dean strode across the room to inspect the fireplace. “Nothing but ashes. Smells like woodsmoke.”

“They stopped burning the strange fires in the spring.” Cas pried up the cellar’s trapdoor. Dean helped by laying it down flat beside the rectangular opening. Stairs led down into darkness.

“Lucky I switched out to my dry pants.” Dean pulled a keychain flashlight from his pocket, and headed first down the stairs.

It felt colder with each step they descended into the narrow shaft. After twenty steps, the staircase switched directions. And then it switched again. “How far down does this go?” Dean muttered. He scanned the light over the dirt walls that enclosed the stairwell, and then they hit the final landing and faced a large black door. Intricate silver designs laced across it in interlocking circles, accented by strange markings. “Where’s the doorknob?”

A cool breeze, as if blown down through the vertical stairwell by giant, slow wings, ruffled his hair. “I should have brought a gun,” he muttered, running his fingers down the sides of the door. No sign of hinges.

“Welcome,” murmured a soft, feminine voice. It spoke behind them, and Dean and Castiel whirled. A dark, ghostly creature perched on the stairs above them. Its flaring, partially folded wings brushed the sides of the narrow, enclosed space, and its face looked like a woman’s, with long, flowing hair. She arose, and descended a step. Her hind legs looked powerful, furry, and bent backwards, like an animal’s.

“Another creepy-assed monster,” he muttered to Cas. “Get behind me.”

He merely gave him a side glance, his brow lifted. “Neither of us have weapons, Dean.”

Dean pulled out his silver hunter’s blade. “Get behind me, Cas.”

Castiel ignored him. “Are you the doorkeeper?”

“Yes.”

“What is your name?”

She...or _it_...descended another step. A smile curled her vaguely feline lips. “Sphinx.” Her grin widened, revealing sharp incisors. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

Dean had a bad feeling the bitch wanted to eat _them_ for dinner. “Not so fast, sweetheart. Don’t pull out the dinner plate just yet. We want safe passage through that door.”

“Of courssse,” she hissed. Her long fingers flickered in the dim light. They laced, and squeezed together, as if itching to strangle someone. “But first, each of you must answer a riddle. If you guess correctly, I will grant you safe passage.”

Dean swallowed. His neck felt very vulnerable right that moment, despite his best efforts at bravado. It seemed pretty obvious the Sphinx was another nasty, creepy-assed mythological Greek creature. He really wished he’d paid better attention in class back in the seventh grade. “Go on,” he encouraged, “give it your best shot.”

Cas shot him a dark look that said, _Do you know what you’re doing?_

“You’re safe with that hagstone, Cas,” he muttered. “And my silver knife will cut her a pretty dance.”

Cas’s frown intensified. “Dean...”

“First question,” Dean directed his full attention to the Sphinx.

“Good.” A sibilant hiss punctuated her pleasure, and her long, bony fingers curled, one by one, around the railing. She descended another step. Ten steps separated Dean and Cas from the freakish monster. “Listen closely. Which creature has one voice, and yet becomes four-footed and two-footed and three-footed?”

This riddle sounded vaguely familiar to Dean. He rubbed the back of his head, and ignored Cas, whose frown had deepened still more. “I know this,” he muttered. “I do. Hold on a minute.”

“Take your time,” smiled the Sphinx. She descended another stair. Her wings stirred the air, and he recognized the faint, rotten eggs scent of sulfur. Was she a demon? Or another monster, taking a vacation from hell?

_One voice, four footed, two footed and three footed..._

“Um...”

“Dean!”

The Sphinx descended another two stairs. Her claws were much too close. They looked like those of a bony old woman...

“Yes!” Dean’s fists clenched in triumph. “I remember. The answer is man. He crawls on all fours as a baby, walks on two feet as an adult, and then uses a walking stick when he’s old.”

The Sphinx screamed. Cas clapped his hands over his ears. The Sphinx’s eyes bloomed a fiery red. She screamed again, as if in mortal pain, and veins of fire laced through her translucent hide, looking like molten lava. “ _No._ ” Heavy breaths hissed, filling the stairwell with the scent of rotting sulfur. “You have not won _yet,_ ” she snarled. “You must answer one last question. And you,” she pointed to Cas, “must answer it.”

Castiel’s shoulders stiffened, but his wide, dark eyes revealed a hint of the fear he must be feeling. “What is the question?” His voice sounded deep, and rough, like gravel.

Fear fisted in Dean’s gut. Cas had never studied Greek mythology. He’d never know the answer to the Sphinx’s question. Desperately, he flashed the light around their tiny space. The Sphinx blocked their escape up the stairs, and the black door... Wait. Had it shifted? A dark space loomed, like a shadow, on the right side. As if it had cracked open. A fetid, noxious odor mixed with the scent of sulfur now.

Dean felt tempted to ram his shoulder into the door, grab Cas and escape inside, but at the last second, he decided it might be smarter to hear out the monster’s last question.

“The quessstion,” snarled the Sphinx, “is simple. There are two sisters: one gives birth to the other and she, in turn, gives birth to the first. Who are the two sisters?”

“I hope you don’t mind...” Teeth gritted, Dean put his shoulder to the door and pushed, hard. It moved, slowly, as if rolling through glue. “...if we take a few minutes to think about it, do you?”

 _HHHhhhhhhsssssssss_ The creature hissed like an enraged cat as Dean stumbled into the room, and Cas bolted after him. Rank, putrid odors filled Dean’s nostrils.

“I will eat you _alive_...”

The two young men shoved their shoulders against the huge, heavy door. Working together, they managed to swiftly shut it in the Sphinx’s face. The smell in the room was overwhelmingly disgusting. Dean had no name for it, but it reminded him of vomit and rotted fish and corpses.

Dean’s legs shook a little, but he tried his best to ignore it. “We made it.” He strode to a table and lit a lamp. Soft light enveloped the room, and he slipped his tiny flashlight back into his pocket.

“You do know we will have to get back _out_ , right?”

“Better start thinking about an answer to that riddle, then.” Dean lit another candle and circled the room. Tables butted up against two walls, and a fireplace took up a third. A wooden door, opposite from the black door, offered a handle, but no clue what might lurk on the other side.

Cas sent him a dark, definitely _un_ amused look, and lit another candle.

“Sorry, man. You know I’ll try to help you, but I’ve never heard that riddle before.” He moved to peer down at papers strewn across the nearest table.

“But you had heard of the first one?” Cas headed over an object lying near the fourth wall and squatted down to examine it more closely.

“Yeah. From Greek mythology, a long time ago.”

“Greek mythology again. Too bad we don’t have Sam and his computer here.”

“Yeah. Sammy and his nerdy research fetish.”

“Dean!” Cas’s voice sounded harsh. “You’re acting like a jerk.”

He _was_ being a jerk. Dean rubbed sweaty palms against his jeans. “Sorry.  I’m scared. Honestly, a little freaked, too. We’re locked in here with no weapons, and I have no idea how we’ll escape.”

“We’ll be okay, Dean.” Castiel’s quiet voice leant him strength. He glanced over at his friend.

“I wish I had your confidence, Cas.”

“Come take a look at this. Tell me what you think. It looks like gold.”

Dean squatted beside his friend and eyed the lumpy, triangular metal blob shining dully in the candlelight. He rubbed a thumb over the metal. “Looks like gold to me, too. Didn’t you say the Rowleys were hoarding gold?”

Cas eyed the crudely fashioned pyramid structure. “Yes. It appears they’ve melted it down and made it into this shape. But why?”

“Good question.” Dean rose to his feet again. “Let’s check out these tables. I’ll take this one.”

Cas moved to the other table, and slowly sifted through the objects. Two large diagrams, and multiple papers written in a language he didn’t understand covered Dean’s table. He wished he had his cell phone, so he could take pictures, but he’d left it at the cabin. He hadn’t thought he’d need a cell phone in Castiel’s world.

The diagrams, however, did make a little sense. One tall, rectangular one depicted a drawing of stars at the top, underscored by a line, and below it a question mark and a man beside it. The third picture down looked like a crude sketch of the Rowleys’ farm. The final, fourth picture included a three-headed dog, a river, and flames.

“Weird,” he muttered, and turned his attention to the other drawing. That paper had been divided into four squares. One was blank, with one word.... αέρας, written in the center. The second square depicted a flame and the word φωτιά, the third showed a bucket of water and the word νερό, and the final, crude picture was hard to figure out, but looked like plowed earth. The word χώμα accompanied the last picture.

He’d never remember all of this. Dean found a blank scrap of paper and swiftly replicated the images on each of the two diagrams, and did his best to carefully draw the words written on the second one. He stuffed it into his pocket.

“Look at this, Dean,” Cas murmured, and when he moved to join him, his lean finger pointed to a line of four small, circular tins. A quick glance told Dean that the entire table appeared to be laid out in multiple lines of four circular tins each.

“Each line includes the colors black, white, red and yellow,” Cas said softly. “And each line contains four different elements. One for each color. Sometimes the black consists of soot. Sometimes it’s hair. The red is blood, or powdered rock. In this line, the yellow looks like mucous.”

“Nasty.”

“It appears Echna is experimenting,” Castiel straightened up from the table. “What do you think she’s trying to accomplish?”

“Nothing good. Take a look at these drawings.”

Cas carefully examined the diagrams on the other table. He lifted the one with the stars drawn at the top. “It appears this picture is trying to show four different worlds. Perhaps the stars mean heaven. And the question mark and the man...” He bit his lip.

“Maybe me,” Dean said roughly. “And my world.”

Cas nodded. “The third one would be my world, and the fourth...”

“The flames look like hell. But I’ve never heard of a three-headed dog or a river in hell. Reminds me of Orthros, though.” Dean moved away from the table to examine the hodgepodge of vases and pots littering the floor and also shoved up against the wall. “Maybe Sammy can help us make sense of all this later.”

He squatted, and sniffed several pots. “ _Whoa._ ” He nearly gagged at the putrid smell. “Man. No wonder it stinks in here.”

“Where do you think this door leads?” Cas fingered the knob on the wooden door a few feet away.

“Let’s check it out.”

Cas glanced back at the inky black door they’d first entered. The Sphinx had remained silent for quite a while now. Dean didn’t think she’d fallen asleep, however. He pulled out his knife and held it at the ready as Cas turned the knob and slowly opened the wooden door.


	31. Chapter 31

Blinding sunlight met Castiel’s eyes as they stepped outside.

Green grass covered a small courtyard surrounded by a high, stone wall. Vines of brightly colored pink and red flowers crept up the wall, and a few strands twined around a tree which stood in the corner.

“Look at that.” Dean strode toward a squat, ugly kiln in a different corner.

Castiel turned around. “Dean.” His tone must have caught Dean’s attention, for his friend pivoted to look at the wall Cas indicated. From the roof, just above the door they’d exited, hung strangled rats, possums, squirrels and mice. The strings cinched tight around their tiny necks. One mouse still squirmed, it’s tiny feet clawing the air.

“That is _sick._ ”

Castiel couldn’t stop himself. He swiftly freed the suffering mouse and set it down on the fresh green grass. The creature stared up at him, curled up on its side, and shivered.

“It’d be more humane to kill it.” Dean flipped the blade over in his hand.

“ _No,_ Dean.” Castiel willed the little creature to find its feet. To run to freedom.

Dean strode across the square of grass and stopped at a large plot of dirt located to the right of a wooden garden gate. Small lumps, each the size of a loaf of bread, covered the freshly turned soil. “Wonder who the sons of bitches buried here.”

The little mouse rolled onto its feet. It hobbled forward a few paces. Satisfied, Castiel left it and joined Dean. “Perhaps they planted vegetables.”

Dean shot him a look of disbelief. “Really, buddy?” He knelt and raked the knife through the dirt. A bedraggled bird’s wing appeared. Castiel felt sick. Disgust curled Dean’s lips, and he rose to his feet. “So they torture animals and use them for experiments. I guess we should be glad none of the graves look big enough for a person.”

“Dean.” Castiel’s stomach churned, and he felt like he might vomit. Because he knew, in his gut, that this possibility wasn’t beyond the Rowleys. “What do you think they’re doing here?”

“Best guess? Searching for the catalyst.”

“To force the Sphere?”

“I guess so. Yeah. Everything else here ties into Greek mythology. The Sphere fits better than any other theory I know.”

Out of the corner of Castiel’s eye, the wooden door leading to Echna’s underground laboratory drifted outward, as if a puff of air from inside pushed against it. “Dean. I think we might have company.”

Dean grabbed the garden gate latch and pulled the large wooden door open. The Rowley’s farm lay beyond the gate.

Dean bolted through the opening, and Castiel followed, with a backwards glance into the small courtyard. The door to the laboratory swung open, revealing Echna’s pale face.

Castiel shoved the gate shut behind them, and to his shock, it promptly disappeared. Vanished as if it never existed. He reached out, but felt only empty air. “Echna saw us. Come on. Let’s get to my house. You’ll be safe there.”

“We might have another problem.” Dean followed his fast footsteps up the hill. “Did you notice the sun is setting? How many hours were we in that creepy-assed witch’s lab?”

Larkspur bloomed around the base of Castiel’s home. This morning, half of the blooms had still been tightly budded. Now—apparently this evening—they all bloomed a vibrant, brilliant blue. It would have taken a number of hours, if not days, for them to bloom so fully. Besides the obvious sign of the setting sun, the larkspur proved that a great deal of time had passed while they’d searched Echna’s lair.

Dean’s fingers trailed through the feathery larkspur blossoms. “Nice, Cas. These weren’t here last year, were they?”

“No.”

“Nice touch, planting them around your house.”

“I didn’t, Dean.” Castiel latched the door shut behind them. “It grew on its own. And it shouldn’t be blooming yet. Half the buds were still curled up tight this morning. It should take another day at the least, or maybe two, for them to fully bloom like that.”

Dean’s brow lifted. “You mean...”

“Yes, Dean. What day is it? How long were we really in Echna’s secret chamber?”

“Or maybe the _gate_ is a portal through time. Maybe it fast-forwarded us into the future.”

“Or perhaps the courtyard itself did.” A thought crossed Castiel’s mind. “The laurel trees!”

“What about the laurel trees?”

“Come on, Dean. We need to check. We need to make sure...” Castiel sprinted out of the house, and Dean followed. Cas’s steps slowed with relief when he spotted half of the blossoms still adorning the laurel trees. However, that meant half of the blooms lay on the ground. They’d only started blooming yesterday, on Midsummer’s Eve.

“You’re kinda freaking me out, Cas. What’s going on?”

Castiel drew a steadying breath, and headed back toward his home. “I visited the laurel trees, Dean, during the winter. I tried, but failed, to enter your world.  And a few days ago, the buds still hadn’t blossomed yet. I couldn’t get through then, either. I think we can only travel between our worlds when the laurel tree blooms. And before the last flower falls to the earth.”

Dean secured the door shut behind them, once they’d entered Castiel’s small home. “Scary. But it makes sense. So we can only cross over once a year. Right now, around the time of our birthday.”

“Yes, Dean. And if we miss it...”

“We’ll have to wait another whole year to walk through.”

“Dean...” Fear caught in Castiel’s heart. “If something ever happens...if we can’t meet one year, for whatever reason...let’s promise to keep trying to meet, until we finally do. Or at least leave a note on the other person’s side, if we can’t visit the next year. Let’s not give up, unless we both know why.”

Dean licked his lips. “Yeah, Cas, I can’t see that happening. I won’t give up. Come hell or high water, I’ll do everything I can to be here. Every year. No matter what.”

A relieved smile tugged at Castiel’s lips. “Agreed. Enough serious talk. Are you hungry?”

Dean grinned. “Starving.”

They ate dinner, and Dean decided to stay one more night. When Castiel asked if his family might be worrying about him, Dean shrugged. “I told my dad I didn’t know when I’d be back, so I doubt he’s worrying too much. If he was, he’d have sent Sam to leave a note. Another night won’t hurt. Tomorrow we’ll go home to the cabin, and Sammy will grease up his computer.”

“And we’ll find out how many days passed while we were in Echna’s laboratory. Ana might be worrying about us, too.” Castiel frowned.

“We’ll get Sammy to visit her.” Dean grinned. “That’ll brighten up her day.”

“ _Dean._ ” But Dean only chuckled.

Before bed, Castiel made a quick trip to the barn to check on the animals. But someone, probably Ty, had already tended to their needs. Another odd note to end an already strange day.


	32. Chapter 32

Dean felt more tired than he’d expected to feel after such a shortened day. Maybe magic sapped the energy out of mortals. Cas didn’t look too tired, but then again, his energy seemed steady pretty much all the time. The guy was like a quiet, immovable rock in a storm.

Cas leant him a clean T-shirt to sleep in, and they both wore their jeans. Cas crawled into bed on the side nearest to the fireplace.

Dean blinked and hesitated, facing the situation for the first time fully awake, and with a clear head. Last night was one thing, since he’d been quaking with cold. But now... “Isn’t this kind of gay, dude?”

Castiel looked at him, startled, which transformed into bewilderment. “It wasn’t last night. Why would it be now?”

Dean huffed a soft laugh, followed by a crooked grin. Good question. “Yeah, why would it?”

Cas immediately swung his feet to the ground and stood up. “I will sleep on the floor, if it will make you feel more comfortable, Dean.”

“No. _No,_ man. I won’t let you do that, not when I’m the one...” But Castiel already headed for the blanket draped over a small chest in the corner, beside the fireplace. “Stop, Cas. I mean it.”

Castiel paused, but he looked uncertain. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable in my home.”

“No, Cas, I won’t. I _don’t._ ” Dean muttered, half under his breath, “That’s the problem.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I would be happy to sleep on the floor, Dean.”

He didn’t like the look in Cas’s eyes. The complete innocence, shadowed by anxious bewilderment. “No, Cas. No. I...I was being stupid.  This has nothing to do with you. It’s all me.”

“Dean?”

Dean flopped onto the bed, silently cursing himself and his own insecurities. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”

Castiel stood still; uncertainty plain on his features. His fingers fidgeted together. “Are you certain?”

That small note of uncertainty in his voice ripped into Dean’s heart. His own lifelong phobias, fed by the criticism and the fun that some jerks poked toward anything remotely suggestive of being gay, and therefore “bad” was bogus. Fear fed his insecurities. Nothing else. He wasn’t gay. Neither was Cas. And more than that, Cas was _innocent._ Even contemplating “gay” thoughts would never cross his mind, except for when they’d teased each other this morning, which Dean had started last night, and that had all been in fun. It meant nothing. It meant _nothing_.

Dean couldn’t stand the hesitant doubt in Castiel’s posture, and worse, the hint of fear in his eyes, which were a dark, midnight blue right now, that he had somehow, unknowingly, displeased him.

Dean softly growled, “Get over here, Cas.”

His friend slowly moved closer, and gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. “Please explain it to me, Dean.”

He sighed. “It’s dumb. And it has nothing to do with _you_. Okay, buddy? Homophobia is stupid. That kind of mentality—it’s just the way I was brought up. Things are different, now, in my world. Well, better than when I was a kid, anyway.”

“Homophobia?” Dean could almost see Cas flipping through the dictionary pages in his photographic memory banks.

“Being gay,” Dean translated. “Like what we were talking about when Echna called you my boyfriend. And the Bible and the controversy...”

“I understand the basic issue, Dean.  But it’s not like that between us. Why would you...”

“Because I’m stupid. I hear all of these... _stupid_...voices in my head. Back in the day, if someone did anything remotely gay, or questionable in that direction, a person would be judged. And sleeping in the same bed as a dude, well, that’s probably at the top of the list.”

Cas stood up, as if poked with a hot stick. “I see. Then I will sleep on the floor.”

“No. If anyone will, it will be me.”

Cas’s jaw set in that stubborn line. “You are my guest. I will not allow you to sleep on the floor.”

Dean muttered under his breath, “This is ridiculous.” He grabbed Cas’s arm and yanked him backward, so he fell awkwardly on the bed, sprawled across Dean’s legs. Cas flailed, but Dean sat up, freeing his own legs by sliding sideways, and he pinned Castiel down with a hand on each of his wrists and loomed over him. He grinned down at Cas’s completely surprised expression. “You’re staying here. I _want_ you here.”

“Are you certain, Dean?”

He laughed softly. “Do I look certain, buddy?”

A light blush pinkened Cas’s features. Then perhaps you will get _off_ of me, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes traced the pink staining Castiel’s cheekbones. He liked it. He enjoyed having this kind of an effect on Cas. Then he realized what he was doing, looming over Castiel as if his best friend was the virginly maiden in some chick flick movie. His own cheeks warmed, and he abruptly released him. “Sorry.”

Castiel sat up. “Are we good, Dean? Is everything all right between us?”

A rueful smile tugged at his lips. “Yes. I was being an idiot. Forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“Good. Then you go back to your side.” Dean nodded toward the opposite side of the bed. “And I’ll get on mine, and everything will be hunky dory. I could use some shut-eye. It’s been a creepily short, but tiring day.”

“I’ll give you plenty of room.” Cas scooted to the far edge and pulled the covers to his chin. He appeared to lie balanced on the very edge of the bed, if his distance from Dean was any indication.


	33. Chapter 33

Castiel lay very still, and glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye. His friend stared at the ceiling. Cas sensed the tension in his friend’s body. He’d sensed it all day. As a result, he didn’t think it had anything to do with sharing a bed with him right now.

“Will you tell me what is wrong, Dean?” His voice came out pitched lower—a soft growl—than he had intended.

Dean jerked a little. “Man, I thought you were asleep.”

“You’re unhappy.” It was easy to guess what might be wrong. “Will you tell me what happened last year?”

Dean ran a hand down his face, and the pale moonlight etched lights and shadows over his finely chiseled fingers. “I can’t...I don’t want to talk about it, Cas.”

Dean wanted to shut down the topic of conversation, but his friend was troubled, and Castiel wouldn’t let up until he was satisfied he’d done everything he could to help him. “You killed a lot of monsters, didn’t you?”

A soft, bitter laugh left Dean’s throat. “Yeah. A lot of monsters.”

“Because you’re a hunter.”

“Yeah. I’m a hunter.” His fingers cupped over his eyes, as if wanting to shut out something he didn’t want to see.

“Why do you always say ‘hunting’ like it is a shameful thing, Dean? You save people. Don’t you?”

“Most of the time,” Dean rasped, and cleared his throat.

An awful thought crossed Castiel’s mind. “You don’t _hurt_ people, do you?”

“Cas.” His low voice sounded wretched. “I don’t want...”

“I want to help you. Please let me.”

Dean’s short laugh sounded bitter. “You’re the only one who doesn’t see all the ugly in me. You see the good, Cas, and I want it to stay that way. I _need_ you...I need you to be able to look me in the face and not _hate_ me. I’m not good enough for you, Cas. I’m not good enough to be your friend.”

“Stop it!” Angry now, Castiel rolled onto his side to face Dean, who still stared at the ceiling. “I care about you. Nothing will ever change that.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he said softly.

Castiel waited. Dean needed to free himself from whatever weight he was carrying on his chest; Castiel felt this as strongly as a punch to his own chest. His friend was hurting, and Cas was determined to help him feel better. Quietly, he said, “Tell me about the monsters.”

After a while, Dean said, “I hunt monsters. And spirits. Evil, creepy-assed things. That’s true. But sometimes the monsters take over human bodies.” He licked his lips. “A lot of times they take over human bodies.”

Castiel swallowed back a startled noise. “You kill people?”

Dean finally looked at him, and the moonlight revealed his tortured dark gaze. “I don’t like it, Cas. I save as many as I can. If that’s possible. A lot of times it isn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because sometimes they can’t be saved. Vampires can’t turn back into humans. Neither can werewolves. If I don’t kill them, they’ll keep killing innocent people. Or they’ll turn their victims into monsters. I don’t like killing them, Cas. Especially the newly turned, or the werewolves. They have no idea what’s going on. Werewolves wake up completely human. They have no idea what they’ve done the night before. Or how many people they’ve killed.”

Dean’s silent gaze pleaded for Castiel to understand. “I don’t like to kill them. I hate it. But I have to do it, to save innocent people’s lives.”

“I understand. Human life is precious. Some evils must be stopped.”

Dean licked his lips and stared at the ceiling again.

“What happened, exactly, Dean?”

He swallowed. “This year has been shitty, Cas. I killed vamps for the first half. I got so sick of all the blood. And then, at Christmas, werewolves started multiplying like rabbits in New York City. It’s one of the biggest cities in our country.”

“So you needed to kill the werewolves. Otherwise, they would hurt more people. I understand. It must have been terrible.”

“It was awful.” He fell silent for a long time. Just when Cas thought he wouldn’t speak again, he said in a very quiet voice, “My last kill happened just before we drove out here. It was bad, Cas. People let this werewolf—or the human she was before she shifted into a werewolf—into their homes. Just let a stranger in. We couldn’t figure it out. My dad and I finally tracked her down, in a high rise apartment in Harlem. It was almost dawn. That’s when werewolves change back into human form.”

When he fell silent, Castiel said, “I’m guessing the werewolf changed back into her natural form before you could kill her. You had to kill a human woman. An innocent human woman.”

“No, Cas. Not a woman. I had to kill _child_....” Dean’s eyes squeezed shut, and a tear slid down his cheek. “A little girl who looked just like Ana.”

“Dean!” Castiel’s fingers curled into Dean’s bicep and tightened, trying to lend strength to his friend, to make his support plain. Huskily, he said, “That must have been awful.”

He swiped at his eyes and sniffed. “I don’t want to be a monster, Cas. But I feel like one. The more blood that’s on my hands, the worse I feel...and I killed a _child_. My God, Cas, how can you look at me? I can’t even stand to look at myself.”

“Dean,” Cas murmured. “ _Dean._ You did the hard thing. You did the right thing. I am sure that little girl would not want to kill more people.”

“She didn’t want to die, either. Do you know how she looked at me, when I stabbed her? She cried out for her _mother_.” A sob caught in Dean’s chest and he pressed his hand to his eyes. “I can’t forgive myself, Cas. I can’t...I just can’t.”

“Dean.” Castiel didn’t know how to comfort him, so he did what he had done last night, when his friend had shivered in misery...he wrapped his arm around Dean’s body and held him tight. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

To his surprise, Dean’s head turned a little, so his nose pushed into Castiel’s hair. He inhaled, as if finding comfort in Castiel’s scent. “ _Cas._ ” The one word sounded broken. His chest heaved.

Wordlessly, Cas held him tighter. “Dean, you’re a good man. You did the right thing, no matter how wrong it might feel. And you are not a monster. Monsters like to hurt people.” His voice shook a little, thinking of the Rowleys. “They _want_ to hurt people. You want to _save_ people, Dean. You are a righteous man, and if there is a God, as I believe there is, I believe he is on your side. You are the best man I know, Dean. That will never, ever change.”

Dean sniffed again, breathing deeply into his hair, and Cas fell silent, just holding his trembling friend. Quietly, Dean wept. Castiel held him tight until they both fell asleep.


	34. Chapter 34

Dean woke up with his chin in Cas’s wild bed hair. What’s more, he was all tangled up with Cas, who slept on his stomach beside him. His best friend’s leg was thrown over his, and Cas’s arm lay draped over his torso. Dean’s own hand rested on Castiel’s back, and he felt Cas’s gentle breaths on his neck as his friend slept on, his face squished into the pillow.

And Dean didn’t mind being tangled up with Cas. He didn’t mind at all. Not like he should. He felt warm, safe, happy, and really at peace, for the first time in weeks.

The guilt and shame eating at him over the little girl’s death had eased, and it was all thanks to Cas. Dean would never be okay with what he’d had to do. But now he thought he could live with it.

Cas’s dark hair felt soft against his lips. It felt nice. He swallowed when warmth slid through him. Maybe...maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Carefully, he pulled back. Cas’s eyes slid open, and the bluest blue in the world soberly regarded him. “Do you feel better, Dean?” His voice sounded husky. Like sex on a hot skillet.

Dean’s heart beat faster. _Sex on a hot skillet_? What in _the hell_ was he thinking? “Yeah. Morning, Cas.” He thought a bit frantically about how to untangle himself before he did something to embarrass himself.

Slowly, Cas’s lips curved up into a sleepy, teasing smile. “So, is this gay, Dean?”

Dean huffed out a laugh, and pulled free. He felt warmer than he should, and stood up and headed for the table, and a pitcher of cold water. “Maybe just a little, Cas.” His throat felt dry. He took his time drinking, until he felt like himself again. When he glanced back, Cas stood with his back to Dean, pulling on a fresh T-shirt. Tanned skin rippled like silk over his well-defined back muscles, and he tugged it down to his lean hips.

Dean turned back around and poured himself another glass of cold water. He put a hand on the table to steady himself. _Enough_ , he told himself. _I’m not gay for Cas. I like girls._ He conjured up the latest girl he’d hooked up with a few months ago, and relaxed a little. Yes, he did like girls.

“Need more water?” Cas’s husky voice spoke near his ear. “I’ll go pump some more.”

Nerves prickled down Dean’s skin as Cas reached around him and tugged the pitcher from his fingers. “Be right back.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Dean scrubbed the back of his neck and took a deep breath when the door closed behind his friend. _Okay, stop it. Everything is good. You just got a little too close to Cas last night. Too much of a chick flick moment._ There were reasons why he didn’t like chick flick moments. Here was one definite reason why he’d avoid them at all costs in the future.

And it was morning, too. His brain probably hadn’t connected with his body yet. In just a few minutes, everything would be fine.

Dean chucked the remaining glass of water into his face. It dripped down his skin, and he sputtered into laughter.

The door shut. “Dean?” Castiel sounded hesitant, and surprised.

Dean grinned. “I’m fine. Just got a little carried away.”

Cas raised his eyebrows, and at last, suddenly, everything was normal again. Dean relaxed in relief and offered, “Do you have eggs? I’ll make breakfast, if you want.”

“All right.” Cas smiled. The guy was still as innocent as a newborn fawn. “Thank you, Dean.”

“And after chores, how about we go to the cabin?”

Castiel smiled. “I would enjoy that. I would like to see Sam and your father again.”

“And I’m sure they’re wondering what happened to me,” Dean muttered, for the first time feeling a little unease slide through his gut. When Cas raised an enquiring brow, he just shook his head and set to work making breakfast.


	35. Chapter 35

“Where in the _hell_ have you been?” John’s low, furious voice stopped Castiel and Dean dead in their tracks when they entered the cabin.

With a cocky set to his shoulders, Dean resumed his forward movement. He strode into the kitchen. “Good to see you, too, Dad.”

John grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. “You’ve been gone for _three_ nights. I’ve been worried sick about you!”

Sam watched the interchange from the couch. He kept his mouth shut. Castiel decided to do the same. In fact, when John glared at him, he wished he could disappear into the floor.

John jabbed a finger at Castiel. “I know my son can be a blockhead. But I thought _you_ were more responsible.”

Dean’s jaw hardened. “ _Don’t_ yell at Cas,” he said through clenched teeth. “If you have a problem, talk to me.”

“You have one minute. Explain yourself. Where have you been?”

Dean pulled a cola from the refrigerator, popped it, and took a long swallow. “We got caught in a time warp. Until right now, we didn’t know how much time had passed.”

“Time warp?” John’s brows flew up his forehead, as if Dean tested the bounds of his credulity.

“Cool!” Sam bounced onto his knees on the couch. “Where?”

Dean tipped back his head and took another swallow. “The crazy-assed Rowleys’ basement. Or maybe in their courtyard, where they string up and torture tiny woodland animals.”

“Dean...”

“It’s true, Mr. Winchester.” Castiel decided it was time he spoke up. “Echna and Ty have a chemical laboratory. It’s guarded by a monster called the Sphinx. We learned a great deal of information that we need you, Sam, to help us decipher.”

Sam vaulted off the couch and returned with his laptop.

“You’re not going back, Dean,” John stated. “Tomorrow is our last day here. I don’t want to lose you to a time warp in Cas’s weird, unnatural world.”

Castiel bit his lip.

Dean gritted his teeth. “Shut up, Dad. Don’t _talk_ about Cas like that.”

John glanced at Castiel for a long moment, his gaze unreadable, and then returned it to his son. “I’d like to talk to you alone, son.”

“No. Anything you want to say to me, you can say right here.” Jaw hard, Dean held his father’s gaze. “Some serious shit is going down in Cas’s world, and we need to figure it out. Lives are at stake.”

In a low voice, John said, “You mean _Castiel’s_ life is at stake.”

“No. I mean every person he _cares about_ back home is in danger.”

“Including you, I’m sure. Am I right, Dean? Did the Rowleys hurt you?”

“They put a poison enchantment on me. Cas broke it. I’m fine. But we’ve got to stop them.”

“Kill them, then.”

Castiel blinked in shock.

Seeing it, John told Dean with a scowl, “If they try to hurt you, then they deserve to die. What’s the problem?”

“They appear to be human, Dad. Maybe witches. But not monsters. And honestly, while they’ve committed a few crimes, they don’t deserve death. Not yet.”

“So you’ll wait until they actually _kill_ one of you, and then you’ll kill them. Great! Dean, you’re _never_ going back...”

“Dad!” Dean exploded. “Don’t threaten me. I will come back here every year until I help Cas fix this thing, so help me God. And you won’t stop me.”

John raised his hands. “I’m just worried about you, son. Cas, too. I don’t want either of you hurt. Do you understand?”

“Yes. But _you_ need to understand that I won’t let them hurt Cas. Or Ana. Or any of our other friends in Delphoi.”

Father and son stared each other down, until John sighed. His shoulder’s slumped a little. “You’re nearly grown. I can’t stop you. But please. Be careful. Both of you.”

“Check this out!” Sam piped up, changing the subject, much to Castiel’s relief. “Wikipedia says the Greek Sphinx had the face of a woman, wings like an eagle, and the body of a lion. And let’s not forget her serpent’s tail. She guarded the city of Thebes, and travelers had to answer her riddle before she allowed them safe passage. It says here if they answered wrong, she strangled and devoured them.”

“Sounds just like the mutant we met.” Dean sat on the couch arm and read over Sam’s shoulder. “Says she asked travelers the most famous riddle in history. Yeah. That’s the one. She asked us the four-footed question. Then she asked us another one. Something about two sisters giving birth to each other?”

“Here.” Sam sounded excited. “It says the second riddle is really ancient. It goes, ‘There are two sisters: one gives birth to the other, and she, in turn, gives birth to the first. Who are the two sisters?’ The answer is ‘day and night.’”

“Huh.” Dean slid a glance at Castiel. “Now we know.”

Sam continued on, “It also says that Oedipus solved the riddle. When he succeeded, she threw herself from her high rock and died. Another version says she devoured herself.”

“Cool. So now we know how to kill the bitch. Another one down.”

“Out of how many?” Castiel said soberly.

John lowered himself into the recliner, put his foot over one knee and listened as the conversation turned to the Rowleys’ underground lab. Dean showed Sam his drawings. The four Greek words he’d copied ended up meaning air, water, fire and earth.

“The four elements,” Castiel said slowly. “Like those in the Sphere.”

Dean frowned. “It’s sounding more and more like the Sphere is our hard target.”

“The Rowleys also had rows and rows of four elements laid out on a long table. It looked like they were trying to find the correct element for each color.”

“What colors?” Sam asked, fingers poised over his keyboard.

“Black, white, yellow and red.”

Sam’s fingers flew. “The four colors and Greece... Here we go. The first site that comes up gives info about the Greek humors. Red blood was for air, white phlegm for water, yellow bile for fire, and black bile for earth.”

“Nasty,” Dean commented. “Air, water, fire and earth. They match the Sphere’s elements. And the humor colors seem to match the Rowley’s little experiments. But why would they think mixing bile, blood and phlegm would force the Sphere together? Seems pretty far-fetched.”

Castiel’s mind had been sorting, organizing and re-organizing the facts. He hoped he could clearly convey his newly formed, fragile theory. “I think the Sphere is the Rowleys’ ultimate goal. But I have a hunch they must be trying to achieve some sort of intermediary, or middle goal, first. They’d achieve that goal by combining the elements. Then the goal...the result... might then somehow force the Sphere.” He murmured, “I think we’re missing a step, here. The middle goal.”

“I’ll dig deeper.” Sam chewed on a nail, and clicked and swiftly read more information. Finally, he said, “Here’s something called the Magnum Opus. It’s centered around alchemy. Specifically, using alchemy to create the Philosopher’s Stone. It talks about a blackening, whitening, yellowing and reddening of chemical substances—the same colors the Rowleys are messing with—to achieve The Great Work. The Magnum Opus. The Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Philosopher’s Stone? Wasn’t that in Harry Potter?” Dean said.

Castiel wondered what he was talking about.

“A book series,” Dean explained.

Sam read, “The Philosopher’s Stone is a goal chemists have tried for centuries to achieve. Says here people thought it could turn base metals into gold, or give someone immortality.”

“That’s sounding closer to what the Rowleys might want,” Dean said.

“But no one’s made the Philosopher’s Stone in real life,” Sam pointed out. “Chemists and others have tried for hundreds of years.”

“Perhaps the Philosopher’s Stone is the intermediary goal,” Castiel said slowly, trying to piece together all of these sketchy facts. “Perhaps they think if they can find the right elements, then they can combine them together to create the Stone. That, in turn, might somehow force the Sphere. But here is the real question: Why would the Rowleys want to force the Sphere back together in the first place?”

“Maybe they want to destroy everything,” Dean said. “If one universe collapses, they might all implode. Like a black hole.”

“I do not think they want to commit suicide.”

“Then maybe they want to escape from your world, Cas. Maybe they’re trapped there.”

Sam said, “Right. Remember the theory that Delphoi is the center of the world? Dean’s picture of the four worlds shows that the Rowleys know that at least four different universes exist. Maybe they want to align the four universes. Or, maybe they want to merge them all together, so they can freely travel between them all.”

John said dryly, from the side, “That’s a lot of maybes.”

However, the theories all made a sick sort of sense in Castiel’s gut. “And if they want to achieve the Sphere—to align or merge the universes so they can travel between them—then why? Why go to all of that trouble? I don’t think their life in Delphoi is a bad one.”

“Some people want more,” Dean said. “Or, in the Rowley’s case, they probably want to paint their brand of joy over every wall in every universe.”

“Listen to this,” Sam said. “The Philosopher’s Stone symbolized perfection, enlightenment and heavenly bliss. Man’s inner transformation, the evolution of consciousness, the perfection of the human soul.”

“I don’t think the Rowleys are interested in inner transformation.”

“But they might be looking for perfection,” Castiel said. “They may be trying to find the perfect way to merge the four elements together. If they can find the perfect solution, they could create the Philosopher’s Stone. And then merge the Sphere.”

Sam said, “Here’s another possible tie-in to the Stone and the four elements of air, water, earth and fire. Geber, an 8th century alchemist added hotness, coldness, dryness, and moistness to the mix.”

“That clears everything up,” Dean snarked.

“It’s complicated.” Sam pointed out the obvious. “Which is why no one’s achieved it.”

“So why do the Rowleys think they can produce the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“We don’t know _what_ they want,” John pointed out. “These are all theories. Half-baked ones, if you want my opinion.”

Castiel frowned and bit his lip. Dean saw it, and said gently, “What, Cas?”

“Respectfully, Mr. Winchester, I think we’re on the right track. I feel it. In my...gut.”

John raised a brow, but said nothing more.

Slowly, Castiel said, “I have one last theory. What if the Philosopher’s Stone is not meant for an individual’s personal use, like for making gold, or achieving immortality. What if it’s meant for a higher purpose—to heal the world. To make everything _one_ , like the Sphere, again. That would explain why the four elements are important to both the Philosopher’s Stone and to the Sphere.”

“I’d guess that would mean we’d need more valuable elements than bile and blood to make up the Stone,” Sam said. “Isn’t the Sphere about love? Uniting everything in love? I think the Rowleys should be focusing on how the elements pair up with everything to do with love. Good things. Like love, faith, healing, and so on.”

“Pretty smart for a punk,” Dean scrubbed his knuckles into Sam’s head.

Sam flipped him off. “Yeah, yeah, jerk. We know who the geniuses are, here. And neither one is you.” He shot Castiel a grin, clearly including him in the genius department.

Dean flicked his brother in the head. “My brain is full. Give it a rest, Sam. Who wants lunch?” He headed into the kitchen and pulled out sandwich makings.

“We still need to find out about the three-headed dog and the river,” Sam sulked.

“It’s hell. What else do we need to know?”

Castiel joined Sam on the couch. Quietly, he said, “I would like to know, too.”

Sam shot him a grateful look. “You’re too good for him, Cas.”

“Bitch,” Dean muttered from the kitchen.

John sighed. “Boys.” He joined Dean at the counter.

“Here we go,” Sam said, and Castiel read over his shoulder. “Cerberus, a three-headed dog guards the entrance to the underworld. The underworld is surrounded by a series of five rivers. The description of each one sounds pretty miserable. Once travelers cross the rivers, Cerberus lets them pass through an adamantine gate into the underworld. He allows everyone to enter, but he won’t let anyone leave.”

“Home sweet home,” Dean commented, taking a big bite of sandwich. “Hey Sam, look up larkspur, since you’re in the research mode. Cas has a bunch growing around his new house.”

Castiel wondered why Dean was making an issue about the larkspur.

While Sam hunched over his computer, they all made sandwiches and settled in the living room. Castiel handed the younger Winchester a sandwich, which he received with a grateful smile.

“Okay, Dean. Here goes. Although I’m not sure why I bother, since you make fun of everything I do.”

“Aw, come on, Sammy. You know I love you.”

“Jerk.” But a small smile pulled at his lips.

Castiel finally ventured, “Why do you want to know about the larkspur, Dean?”

“Larkspur follows you everywhere, dude. It’s got to mean something.”

“I suppose.” It did seem strange that the blue flowers had sprung up around his cabin after he’d moved in. Never before had they grown near that building. They’d only grown around the barn, where he’d used to live.

“Okay, listen up,” Sam said. “First of all, larkspur symbolizes an open heart and ardent attachment. I don’t see anything about _blue_ larkspur on this site, but purple larkspur is close enough. It stands for a sweet disposition and first love.” Dean’s gaze fell from Cas, and down to his empty plate.

Sam clicked to a new tab. “Now for the Greek mythology part. In Greek, the word for larkspur is Hyakinthos.  Some people think Hyakinthos means the modern day hyacinth flower, but apparently that’s wrong. Instead, it’s associated with the larkspur, or the Delphinium ajacis plant.”

“Now to the good stuff. There are three main myths about Larkspur. I’ll leave the first one for last, because it’s, well...interesting.”

Castiel felt uneasy, although he wasn’t sure why. Dean poured chips onto his plate, as if he wasn’t paying much attention, although Cas got the feeling he was paying very close attention indeed, because his shoulders looked tense.

“So, the second myth is about Ajax, a Greek hero of the Trojan War. Supposedly he went crazy after some dude’s armor was awarded to Odysseus. I guess Ajax was jealous, because he threw himself on his sword. The larkspur sprang up from his blood.”

“Grisly,” John commented.

“Doesn’t sound like Cas at all.”

“I am not a flower, Dean.” And Castiel hoped he’d never contemplate anything so petty, if the larkspur truly was important, and a part of his life, according to Greek mythology.

Dean grinned, and relaxed a little. “Of course you’re not. What else, Sam?”

“The third myth is about the goddess Persephone and her nymphs gathering flowers. I guess larkspur was one of them. Doesn’t say much else.”

“And the first myth,” John prodded. “What does it say?”

“It’s a love story. Hyakinthos, a Spartan prince, was apparently loved by both Apollo and Zephyros, the West wind. Zephyros got jealous of his rival and blew a discus off course so it hit Hyakinthos in the head and killed him.” Sam raised his eyebrows. “ _Nice_ dude. Says here the grieving Apollo was so distraught by the loss of his lover that he transformed the dying Hyakinthos into a larkspur flower.”

“That’s pretty far out,” John commented.

Dean laughed a little. “Yeah. You can say that again.”

Sam giggled. “Maybe you’re Hyakinthos, Cas. And Apollo will be your lover.”

Dean quit smiling. The chip in his hand crunched into pieces, and his dark gaze met Castiel’s. It looked apprehensive. “Quit being a douche, Sam. Cas isn’t a character in some stupid fairy tale.”

“It’s not a fairy tale. It’s _Greek myth._..”

“Shut it, Sam. Enough. Eat your lunch.”

“See the thanks I get,” Sam muttered, but closed the computer.

“That story does not sound very appealing,” Castiel said stiffly.

“Yeah, right? No strange guy is going to jump your bones, Cas,” Dean said roughly. “The Greek stuff in your world is twisted a little. It’s different. No telling what the larkspur really means. If anything.”

Castiel felt better, and sent Dean a grateful look. Dean smiled, but it didn’t seem firm or sure, as if the story had upset him, too. Although Castiel had no idea why that might be.

Cas thought about the tale for a moment longer, trying to figure out what had bothered him so much about the story. “I don’t think Hyakinthos was forced to love either person,” he said at last. “What bothers me—and what appears to be the important link between the two stories—is death. The larkspur symbolizes blood and death. Specifically, the death of a man dying young. Before his time.”

“Okay.” Dean stood abruptly. “Enough of this Greek crap. You’re not dying young, Cas. Get that out of your head right now.”

Castiel frowned. “Telling me to stop thinking about it won’t help. It won’t stop it from happening,” he pointed out.

“Do you want to start an argument right now? Because I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m not...”

Dean bulldozed on, “I think we’re taking all of this a little too seriously. Dad, I think you’re right. All we have is a bunch of half-baked theories, and I’m done thinking about them.”

Dean’s anger masked his fear. Castiel saw it, as clearly as if he could see into his soul. “It’s okay, Dean. You don’t need to be scared...”

“I am not _scared._ ”

Castiel flinched in surprise at Dean’s harsh tone.

Sam rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Uh ohh... First fight...”

“Shut it, Sam!” Dean exploded. “And screw this. I’m getting out of here. Who’s coming with me?”

Sam said, “Can we get an ice cream?”

“Yeah. Whatever. Whoever’s coming, come. I’m outta here.” He grabbed keys off the counter and headed for the door.

Castiel stared after his friend. He’d never seen Dean like this before. He slowly stood up and rubbed the crumbs from his jeans. Did Dean want him to come? Was he angry with him?

Dean yanked open the door, but he hesitated in the doorway. He looked over his shoulder. “Coming, Cas?” His voice sounded awkward and rough.

Castiel shoved his hands in his pockets. “Um.”

Dean drew a slow breath. “I’m sorry, Cas. Please come.”

John’s raised eyebrow indicated Dean’s behavior struck him as unusual, too. He glanced at Castiel, and Cas couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Go on, son. It’ll be good for all of you to be kids for a while.”

Castiel followed Dean and Sam outside. He sat in the backseat, and Sam sat in the front. After they got their ice creams, they wandered to the park, where Sam found a swing. He sat there alone and ate his ice cream cone, toeing his sneaker into the dirt and gently moving back and forth. He clearly wanted to be alone. The tension between the three of them remained palpable, as it had in the car, when Dean had sped faster than Castiel thought was prudent into town.

Dean sat on a bench, and Castiel did, too, but he kept a good space between them. Dean still seemed to be irritated with him. He hadn’t said two words to either Sam or Castiel since getting in the car. It made Cas feel unsettled and unhappy, but he didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

The ice cream was delicious, though. The hot sun felt nice on his skin, and the cherry ice cream tasted tart and delicious. The cone melted quickly in the hot sun, and Castiel gave his full attention to lapping up all of the straying trickles. One particular side of the cone kept trickling down his finger, and he licked into the groove between his fingers, capturing the sweetness, and then caught the rest in a stripe up his finger to the tip. It tasted so cool and delicious on his tongue. He felt Dean staring at him.

When he glanced over, Dean looked away. His throat worked. “Damn it, Cas.”

“Why are you angry with me?”

Dean tossed his napkin into a nearby trashcan. “I told myself no more chick flick moments with you.”

Castiel frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m losing it with you. I’m too emotional.”

Castiel thought he knew what he meant. “I care about you, too, Dean. Is it wrong to care about someone?”

Dean scrubbed his hair. “It is when it screws with your brain. Damn it, I just don’t like the thought of bad shit being forced on you. Or you dying. It frustrates me, because I can’t be there to help you. You’re right. It scares me. And I don’t like being scared.”

“I have the hagstone. I’ll be fine. And I worry about you, too. Your life is dangerous. I pray for you, Dean. Every day.”

He cast him a surprised glance. “I probably need it. Thanks.”

“I think it’s possible to reach heaven from both your world and mine. Perhaps it’s blasphemy, but I think only prayers can unite all of our universes right now.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” Dean sighed. “I’m not a praying man. But I’ll pray for you. You can count on it.”

“Good. And then next year we will meet again.”

“We’ll be turning eighteen. The portal might close.”

“So, let’s meet at noon on our birthday. Before the new year begins at midnight. We’ll wait, each on our own side of the laurel trees, and see what happens.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Minutes passed. Dean was still too quiet. Finally, Castiel said, “Tell me what else is wrong.”

“I don’t know. I have a feeling, Cas, and it’s not a good one. Like something’s going to happen. That something will stop us from seeing each other. For a long time. ...Maybe forever.” He licked his lips.

Fear slid into Castiel, because now that Dean articulated it, he realized for the first time that deep in his subconscious, he’d been feeling it, too. A faint, heavy feeling of darkness threatened in the distance, at the edge of his spirit. He always felt apprehensive when he knew his time with Dean would soon come to a close. But this heaviness felt different. And the fact that Dean sensed the same thing intensified his fear. “You don’t think this is the end, do you?” Of their relationship. He didn’t say it, but knew Dean understood.

“No. ...I don’t know. But it’s not...”

“...going to be good,” Castiel finished.

Dean glanced at him. “You feel it, too?”

“Yes.” Castiel bit his lip. The growing fear ached in his chest. Could it be true? Was something coming that might separate them? Perhaps forever? “Then we should make the most of the time we have now, Dean. We have tonight, and all day tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

Quiet moments elapsed.

 “Is there anything you want, Cas? Anything you need? I know you have money now, and you can take care of yourself. But is there anything I can get for you, here?”

“No. But you can _do_ something for me.”

Dean licked his lips, and offered a crooked smile. “What do you mean?”

“Until I leave, can we forget about my world? About...everything? Can we just be what we are? I just want to be...”

“A kid? A teenager?”

“Yes.”

Dean smiled. “I can do that. And we’ll have a blast. Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sphinx:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sphinx  
> Philosopher’s Stone and Magnum Opus:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magnum_opus_(alchemy)  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philosopher%27s_Stone  
> http://www.crystalinks.com/philosopherstone.html  
> http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/456733/philosophers-stone  
> Empedocles’ theories:  
> http://www.innergarden.org/en/wetway.html  
> Cerberus:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cerberus  
> The Underworld:  
> http://www.greekmythology.com/Myths/Places/Untitled/untitled.html  
> http://edweb.sdsu.edu/people/bdodge/scaffold/gg/place.html  
> Adamantine:  
> http://mythology.wikia.com/wiki/Adamantine  
> Larkspur:  
> http://www.squidoo.com/larkspur-flower-facts-and-meaning  
> http://www.theoi.com/Flora1.html
> 
> Adamantine is a term used to describe any material which composition was that of a very hard material. Although not only referring to metals, the Adamantine was also known as the metal of the gods.  
> Adamantine is described as been unbreakable, untarnishable, lightweight and resilient. http://mythology.wikia.com/wiki/Adamantine


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was writing this chapter, I wanted to think of a good name for a song to include. Out of the blue, "Midnight Blue" came to me. Surprised to think of a name for a song I'd never heard before, I searched online, found the lyrics to the old, ELO version (first version I saw) and it was perfect. And then I listened to the song, and it was perfect, too. "Midnight Blue" inspired me during this section of the book. You'll see the link in the chapter when it comes up, and I hope maybe you'll give it a listen, because to me, it perfectly shows how Dean and Cas are feeling right here. Anyway, here's the link: Midnight Blue: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwBGBElJcuo
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Dean made good on his promise. They spent the remainder of that afternoon and the evening watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Cas rolled into bed filled with wonder that he’d been able to see his favorite books acted out, like real life, on the television screen.

That day felt full and complete. Castiel could not have asked for anything more. He glanced at Dean sleeping in the next bed. Everything felt right. Well...except his bed felt empty. After sleeping with Dean for the last two nights, Castiel missed the heat of his friend’s body and Dean’s scent, and the solid, comforting feeling of holding his best friend in his arms. He missed Dean. And Castiel realized for the first time in his life that he didn’t like to sleep alone.

The next day, Castiel, Dean and Sam visited the lake, and rented a boat and aimlessly motored around on the beautiful, dark blue water. At one point, when they’d turned off the engine, and just floated on the lake, Castiel caught Dean staring at the water with a faintly bemused expression. When he looked over at Cas, he gazed into his eyes for long, inexplicable moments, but said nothing.

Sam trailed his fingers in the water. “It’s a pretty color. Sometimes it’s lighter, like phthalocyanine blue, and others it’s dark blue, like midnight.”

Dean didn’t comment on Sam’s big word, or his observations. Just grunted, restarted the engine, and returned his attention to steering the boat.

Afterward, they hiked up to a beautiful waterfall. Castiel loved the dark, shadowed woods and the gigantic trees looming over the ferns nestled below. The beautiful, breathtaking mountain scenery was so different from his own home.

The wonderful, bittersweet day passed by all too quickly.

All day, Castiel had tried hard to forget that this was their last day together. And he’d tried to push out of his mind yesterday’s conversation with Dean. He failed on both counts. The sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach only intensified as the hours passed. Tomorrow he’d leave Dean, and return to his own world. And after that...he feared, in his deepest gut, that he would not see Dean again, for a very long time.

Perhaps not ever.

In the evening, Castiel, Dean, and Sam returned to the cabin in time for a quick dinner of pizza. Afterward, John started the fire, and they prepared for their last night together—which now, by tradition, meant s’mores. Castiel loved s’mores; especially perfectly golden, toasted marshmallows, at which Sam good-naturedly scoffed. Dean pulled out his guitar and played quietly, perched on the edge of the recliner.

As they ate s’mores, Dean murmured in soft surprise that he’d just found new bars for the sweet, haunting song he was still writing. His fingers gently plucked the strings, and Castiel could not tell where the old notes ended and the new ones began. They wove together into a perfect melody. The notes winged through Castiel’s spirit, knitting together joy and hope in spiraling cords of perfection. Of destiny. He couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t tell Dean that his unfinished song affected him so deeply.

“One day, the words will come,” Dean murmured. The firelight painted soft shadows across his smile.

“Does your song have a name?” John asked.

Dean shook his head, and strummed into a new melody. It was also slow and sweet, and as he crooned the tender words, his husky voice drew Castiel’s attention like a magnet finding true north.

_I see the lonely road that leads so far away,_

“That’s an old one,” John said, after a few lines in. “‘[Midnight Blue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwBGBElJcuo),’ by ELO. A little different than the rock and roll you usually like.”

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, “I found it last year.” He slipped back into the song. The melody and longing lyrics twined through Castiel’s soul like a love knot. “I see you in midnight blue...” His gaze met Castiel’s, and then fell to the strings again.

_I see you standing there, far out along the way,_   
_I want to touch you, but the night becomes the day,_   
_I count the words that I am never gonna say_   
_And I see you in midnight blue._

“He’s dreamin’ about one of his girlfriends,” Sam muttered to Cas.

That didn’t seem true to Castiel. It seemed like Dean sang it right here and now in the cabin for a reason.

Dean crooned into the chorus, “...and I will stay by your side, Lovin’ you, I’m feelin’ midnight blue...”

More words filled the quiet room.

_I see beautiful days and I feel beautiful ways_   
_Of loving you, everything’s midnight blue._

_I will love you tonight,_   
_and I will stay by your side,_   
_Lovin’ you, I’m feelin’ midnight blue._

At the end, Sam threw a marshmallow at Dean’s head. “You’re a sap.” Apparently, he didn’t approve of his brother singing tender, bittersweet love songs. But Castiel liked it. He liked it a lot.

A small tussle ensued between Dean and Sam, and then it was time for bed.

Castiel brushed his teeth and climbed into bed, still in his T-shirt and jeans. It got cool in the cabin at night. In the room behind him, Dean moved around, finishing up, and finally clicked off the light.

Silence followed.

Castiel heard no footsteps, and wondered what Dean was doing. Was he still standing at the light switch? Had he slipped into bed? He almost turned over to see. And then he heard padding footsteps, and Castiel’s bed sagged down near his knees.

Dean said nothing.

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

“I’m scared, Cas.” His voice sounded rusty. “I’m afraid this is it.”

“Dean.”

“I’m...forget it. Sorry.” Dean made to stand up, but Castiel’s fingers closed around Dean’s wrist, and tightened. Cas looked up at his friend, without words asking him not to leave. To stay with him; to be together for one last night.

Dean hesitated. “Cas.” His name sounded unbearably gentle and soft. And then Dean pulled back the covers and slid in beside him. Joy and relief and a host of other emotions he couldn’t name soared through Castiel as Dean’s arms went around him, and Cas’s arms went around Dean, and Cas ducked his head down a little. Dean’s chin nestled into Cas’s hair.

Dean’s arms tightened around him, and he sighed. “Yeah, this is so not gay.”

“It’s not gay, Dean. It’s not sex. It’s about love.”

“ _God._ ” It sounded like a heartfelt, confused prayer. “Cas,” he whispered.

“I’m feeling midnight blue too, Dean,” Castiel murmured into Dean’s neck.

“ _Cas._ ” A world of longing and heartache and unnamed emotions ached in that one sound, and Castiel understood completely, because he felt exactly the same way.

Cas slid his leg through Dean’s, who tucked his leg over Cas’s. They held each other close, breathing the same air, sharing the comfort of touch, of their close embrace, all night long.

*****

In the morning, Castiel awoke with Dean’s scent filling his senses, with the texture of his skin imprinted into his cheek. He lay very still, memorizing every sensation. He felt when Dean woke up. Felt his breath in Castiel’s hair deepen. Another breath, and he felt Dean’s fingers touch his hair and softly stroke it.

Dean swallowed, and Castiel was sorry when his hand fell away.

“Cas,” he murmured.

Castiel reluctantly pulled back and looked up. He felt a little stiff from lying in one position for so long, but he didn’t want to move away from Dean.

“Do we have to move now?” he said in a small, quiet voice.

“Yeah.”

Castiel tried to move back, but Dean’s arm unexpectedly tightened around him. “This is goodbye, Cas. I can’t do this again. Not out there. Not again.”

Castiel nodded.  Dean’s mouth looked soft, his gaze regretful and melancholy. “’Bye, Cas.” His fingers slid into Castiel’s hair. The gentle ruffle felt like a caress.

Emotion overwhelmed Castiel, burning his eyes. He didn’t want to say goodbye. He didn’t want to let go of his best friend. He tightened his arm around Dean, too, and pushed his face into his neck. When he shut his eyes, a tear trickled down his cheek, into Dean’s throat. Castiel chased it, turning his head, wanting to obliterate it, and found his lips against Dean’s skin. Powerful emotion swamped him then, overwhelming him, and he gently pressed his lips into Dean’s neck, just below his jaw, and lingered, tasting the saltiness of his tear, mixed with the warm essence of Dean’s skin. He drew a shaky breath and allowed his lips to absorb the sensation of Dean’s skin against his own. It felt good... So good. Dean’s head fell back, and his breath stuttered in his throat.

Cas froze, surprised he could have such an effect on Dean. His heart pounded.

“Cas,” he said huskily. “Get up now, or I won’t be able to help myself.”

Castiel’s face flamed hot, and he rolled away. His jeans felt tight, and his breaths rasped hard in complete shock when he realized what had happened. He had _kissed_ Dean. He shook and trembled where he stood, turned away from Dean, trying to hide the sudden, embarrassing state of his body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Please don’t turn away from me, Cas.” Dean stood now, behind him, and Castiel heard the pain in his voice. “And please don’t apologize. It was... It was perfect, Cas.”

Castiel couldn’t seem to stop shaking. He turned a little, to partially face Dean. He felt scared, and completely bewildered. “What just happened?”

Dean looked just as confused, but his gaze was soft. “I don’t know.”

Castiel’s face felt hot. “I’m embarrassed, Dean. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean...”

“Cas, stop it.” He licked his lips. “I’m not angry. How could I be? It felt...beautiful.”

“Dean.” Tears filled his eyes. “I know you’re not... And I didn’t mean it to be that way. ...to be... You know. I just...” Castiel couldn’t find the words to explain what he felt, to explain his actions. “Please, don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. Cas. I just told you I _liked_ it.”

Castiel stared at him.

“And I don’t think it was gay. I think...I think the feelings we have for each other are a little intense. I care about you, Cas. And...and we just said goodbye. So that’s it.”

Castiel nodded. “Okay.” Dean clearly didn’t hate him, and that allowed him to relax a little. He managed a small laugh. “So, uh...yeah. No more of that.”

“No more,” Dean agreed softly, but he still watched Castiel. And Cas couldn’t read his tone or his expression.

Castiel moved to his duffel. “I should get dressed.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah. Good idea.”

Castiel quickly dressed. He still trembled a little. He didn’t know what had happened, or why it had happened. He couldn’t explain his actions to himself. He hadn’t meant to kiss Dean. He’d just done it. It had felt so...right. And the unexpected warmth that had suffused his body... Dean, thankfully, had broken the moment.

Castiel couldn’t explain any of it. All he knew was he cared about Dean, and didn’t want to leave his best friend this morning. And yet he must.

He zipped the duffel shut.

Ready?” Dean’s voice sounded rough. The torment in his eyes matched the despair eating into Castiel’s soul.

He wasn’t. “Yes.” He walked through the bedroom door first, and he felt Dean’s hand touch his back and linger, as if reluctant to lose touch with him now. Or ever.


	37. Chapter 37

After breakfast, and goodbyes, Dean walked Cas to the laurel trees. His friend fidgeted, hitching the duffel strap higher on his shoulder. His shoulders rippled under the blue T-shirt that matched his downcast eyes. He toed the earth.

“Dean, I...”

“ _Don’t._ Don’t say you’re sorry again.  Because I’m not.”

Finally, he looked up and said quietly. “Are you sure?”

“Cas, outside of my family, you mean more than anybody in my life. I told you how I feel. Please believe me.”

“But...”

“ _Don’t_. I can’t stand it.” Dean felt desperate that Cas understand. He understood why Cas had to ask. They were separating. He didn’t want anything left unresolved between them. Anything bad that might fester.

Castiel held Dean’s gaze. “Did it mean something to you, too?”

Dean swallowed. “Yes. _Yes_ , Cas, it meant something to me. And believe me, I would not have held you in my arms all night long, either, if you didn’t mean something to me.”

Cas drew a shallow, hitching breath. “I’ll miss you, Dean.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” It felt like his heart might wrench out of his chest.

Cas looked toward trees. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean shoved hands in pockets. “Goodbye, Cas.” He swallowed hard and blinked fast.

Cas took one final look at him, and then turned and walked through the gateway. He disappeared from sight. Dean’s heart hurt, fisting so hard inside him it felt like it might kill him. Tears blurred his eyes, but he stood there a while, fighting his desire to run after Cas. To chuck all logic to the wind and spend the next year with his best friend. To not let whatever was coming separate them...maybe for good.

Dean gritted his teeth, and resolutely turned his shoulders and headed for the cabin. He didn’t belong in Cas’s world. And Cas couldn’t survive in his. He swiped at the tears filling his eyes and walked harder and faster for the cabin. Somehow, he would have to forget about the dark-haired boy with the blue eyes who had climbed into his heart and fisted into his soul, and would not let him go.

*****

Back at the cabin, John slammed the last suitcase into the car’s trunk. “Dean. We need to talk.”

“No. We don’t.” Dean strode by, vision blurry, and ducked behind the house. He leaned against wall and heaved great breaths, trying to get a grip on his emotions. He pressed his fingers to his eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears, but failing. He slid down the wall and squatted on his heels, covering his face with his hand. The choked sobs filling his ears didn’t sound like his own. They sounded pitiful, and utterly lost. Grief overwhelmed him. It hurt to breathe, as if a truck sat on his chest.

It took a long time, but he finally got a grip on himself, and found water in a spigot at the side of the house. He splashed handfuls of cold water on his face.

Silently, he packed up his last small bag in the house. Sam looked at him, but any snarky comments died on his lips when he saw Dean’s face. His little brother’s silent footsteps dogged him to the car. Sam’s worried eyes almost made him lose it again.

Dean held out his hand to John for the keys. “I’m driving.”

“Are you sure, son?”

“Yes.”

Dean drove silently, without stopping, for as long as both the gas and he could hold out.

And his heart remained behind, in a world he couldn’t reach, or touch any longer. With Cas. A friend who meant more to him than anyone had ever meant before. And his soul cried, even as his mind tried to get lost in the hard rock and roll blasting from the speakers and rolling out the windows into the forest.

Finally, they had to stop. Standing to stretch his legs, John put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right, son.”

Dean shrugged his shoulder free. “No, it won’t.” He strode toward the store to pay for the gas that would take him further and further away from Cas. He put a hand to his eyes again, and squeezed tight. He would not cry again. He would not.


	38. Chapter 38

Year 2018

 

Compared to last year, the next one was a better one for Dean. His father left them for long periods of time to hunt the demon that had killed their mother when Sammy was a baby, and Dean watched out for Sam and made sure he went to school. Most of the time, they stayed with Bobby. John didn’t say why he’d decided to leave Dean behind, but his perpetual, furrowed brow whenever he looked at Dean said he was concerned.

Dean wasn’t sure why. He still hunted when he needed to, although he wasn’t sorry it was less than last year. He dated a few girls, but it didn’t go anywhere. He wasn’t sure why.

He also worked for Bobby, and threw himself into learning everything he could about fixing cars. He enjoyed it, and Bobby praised him. Said he was turning into a great mechanic.

And time slowly...so slowly...passed.

For the first few months he missed Cas like an ache in his chest. Like a bullet hole blown through him, leaving only the wind to whistle through his heart. He couldn’t explain why he felt the way he did, except that his fear of never seeing Castiel again overwhelmed him. It terrified him on some deep level he couldn’t understand. He was a mess. Maybe his father was right to be worried.

The events of his final morning together with Cas replayed through his mind on nights when he couldn’t sleep. Most especially his response to Castiel’s innocent kiss. Cas hadn’t meant anything by it. That was clear. But Dean couldn’t forget how he’d felt with Cas’s lips on his skin. Loved. Completely and utterly. And his physical response had been intense.

It confused him all to hell. Everything about Cas confused him. Dean liked girls. He always had, and while on occasion he might notice a guy was attractive, that didn’t mean anything. He’d once read that everyone occasionally found someone of their same sex fleetingly attractive. It didn’t mean that he wanted to do anything about it.

No, he wasn’t gay. And he wasn’t gay _for Cas_.

Besides looking out for Sammy (which meant being a pain in the ass to his brother), and working with Bobby, the only thing he pursued with singled-minded determination was finding a sardonyx hagstone. It proved more difficult than he’d thought, even with the world wide web. Eventually he found one. A genuine one, but by then it was late April.

Soon, he’d go back to the cabin. He didn’t care if his father rented it or not. Dean would go. Nothing would stop him. Some part of him still hoped the gateway would be open. That all of his worrying and angst had been for nothing. He even prayed, as he’d promised Cas he would. He wondered if it did any good. He wondered how life was treating Cas.


	39. Chapter 39

Castiel missed Dean terribly. It felt like a visceral ache in his chest. Working hard helped, and so he worked hard. But the nights were the worst. He tried not to think about the kiss he’d given Dean, or how right it had felt, or how much he missed him now. Cas tried to put that last morning far from his mind. It was nothing Dean would ever want to happen again, and so it was nothing Castiel wanted to happen again, either.

But he did think about sleeping with Dean and holding him tight. Remembering the comfort and peace he’d felt with Dean helped him get through the first, and the worst, lonely nights.

It felt like a part of himself was missing, and that feeling never went away. And the deep fear that he may not see his friend again sometimes made the visceral ache of loneliness and grief unbearable. He slept in the old T-shirt Dean had given him over a year ago. It comforted him, to wear something of Dean’s. And Castiel carefully washed it in well water every week. That kept it looking fresh and newer than the clothes he paid the washer woman to clean, although she did a wonderful job.

Castiel knew, however, that he couldn’t let the aching void of grief stop him from living. He needed to find meaning and purpose in his life, without Dean. Even though he missed him, and always would. Because the simple fact was, even in the best of circumstances, he and Dean could only spend a few days together each year.

He spent a fair amount of time thinking about the Philospher’s Stone the Rowleys might be trying to manufacture. Perhaps the Stone might help open a permanent pathway between Dean’s world and his own. He yearned for that, too. Could it be wrong to want such a thing? Were the Rowleys wrong to want to unite the different worlds in the Sphere? ... _If_ that is what they wanted to do. He felt fairly certain it was. Although he had a feeling their motivation for aligning worlds was not to unite the worlds in love. They were evil, and so their purpose must be evil. Maybe the universes were separated for a reason—perhaps to protect the different worlds from evil or unnatural things that lived in the other realms. Things they may not be able to handle.

A few weeks after Dean left, Castiel paid a visit to the Rowley’s house when he was certain they weren’t there. Echna was in the shop, and Ty had gone out of town. Cas wanted to accomplish two goals.

Before lifting the cellar door, he glanced at the angle of the sun, memorizing the time. Then he descended into the darkness, carrying only a small torch. He wanted to understand more about the swift passage of time that he and Dean had experienced when they’d visited the Rowley’s lab. Or perhaps the time warp, as Dean had called it, had occurred in the courtyard. Whatever the case, Castiel wanted to know exactly what triggered the time change. In addition, it wouldn’t hurt to look through the lab again and see if they’d missed any clues the first time.

He felt quite certain Dean would be furious if he knew he was going down to visit the Sphinx without back up. But Cas was alone. Always alone, and if he wanted to figure out the Rowley’s plan with the Sphere, he needed to take steps of his own to figure out the mystery.

His steps slowed when he neared the last turn in the wooden staircase.

“Castielll...” The hiss came below him, and he froze. His heart beat faster. But this was the other reason why he had come. To kill the Sphinx. The Rowleys had tried to kill Dean. As a result, Castiel was determined to kill every one of their evil monsters. The Rowleys would not use the Sphinx to hurt anyone he cared about.

“We’ve answered the riddle. Let me through.”

The Sphinx appeared, and her face contorted as her tongue darted out like a snake’s. “Castiel. Mmm. You look delicious. Where’s your boyfriend? I’m _hungry_.”

Castiel stiffened his spine, stifling a shudder of fear. He hoped the hagstone would protect him from the Sphinx, as it had from Orthros. “Give me your riddle, and open the door.”

“Echna’s laboratory is not for you.”

“But you must allow anyone to enter. Anyone who knows the answer to your riddle.” Castiel didn’t know this, but he’d bet on the logic. He _was_ betting on the logic. It didn’t follow his usual, prudent standard of behavior to bet on anything, but he felt pushed too far, beyond endurance. It was time to push back. “I’m waiting.” He also mentally noted that the Sphinx had called the lab _Echna’s_ laboratory. Interesting.

The Sphinx hissed. “You are eager to die. But I’m lonely. I would like some simple conversation before I eat you. You _savory_ morsel...” Her serpent tail flipped and slithered like a malicious snake. Something suddenly snapped in Castiel.

He was sick of the games. He felt forced from one situation he hated to another. Being separated from Dean, being dependent upon well water to survive, and therefore bound to the Rowleys and their farm forever...the list went on and on.

He pulled the hagstone from beneath his shirt and descended the stairs. To his satisfaction, the Sphinx cringed backwards and slithered sideways as he approached.

“Go! Castiellll, you awful boy. Go!”

The black door loomed beside him, and he eyed the Sphinx, who now hovered, wings flaring, on the stairs above him. Rage contorted her features, and her eyes blazed red.

“Riddle,” he said.

She hissed again, head tilting and twisting. As if she already know his answer. As if she anticipated her fate. She hissed again. “There are two sisters: one gives birth to the other and she, in turn, gives birth to the first. Who are the two sisters?”

Castiel smiled. “Day and night.”

The Sphinx emitted an ear splitting shriek, and Castiel shoved his hands over his ears. She screamed again and again, face tilted skyward. Red outlined her body, and deep veins of molten orange melted her skin and burned it up into charcoal black clumps. She lit into one blazing, black speckled fireball, and Castiel ducked just before she exploded. Heat flayed into his arm, his back and his legs. Cool, dank air hit his cheek, and he tumbled into the lab, out of the inferno blazing in the stairwell.

Smoke and heat curled into the lab, and he slammed the door. After catching his breath, and rubbing flecks of soot off his arms, Castiel spent the next few minutes re-examining everything he and Dean had investigated before. He saw nothing new. But he hadn’t really expected anything new. He’d wanted to kill the Sphinx. And he’d wanted to figure out how the time warp worked.

He waited until he estimated he’d spent ten minutes in Echna’s lab. Then he took a quick, careful glance out into the stairwell.

The Sphinx had disintegrated into ash. Half of the stairs on the first flight had burnt up. But the basic structure still looked intact. Castiel left the lab door ajar, as he saw no handle to open it again, and he planned to return soon. He carefully climbed up, using brute strength when he needed to. In the Rowley’s cabin again, he checked the angle of the sun. It looked the same as before. Time had passed normally in the lab. So, the time change must take place in the courtyard.

He believed that he and Dean had spent five minutes in the courtyard. And about thirty hours had passed. That meant that each minute in the courtyard might equal six hours in real time. Now to put it to the test.

Castiel descended the staircase again, and entered the courtyard. Staying one minute would be enough to test his theory. Castiel waited the estimated amount of time, wishing he had a watch like Dean’s, and then exited through the gate. The sun was setting, whereas a minute ago, it had been mid afternoon.

So, he’d been right. The courtyard created the time warp. Each minute equaled about six hours, fast forwarded, in real time. Maybe the information would come in handy in the future.

Castiel set to work on his evening chores, feeling satisfied. He wondered if Echna would try to hurt him for killing her Sphinx. Or if she would become angry that he’d entered her secret lab.

He didn’t care. Dean might be surprised that he’d killed for the sole sake of revenge. But Castiel did not regret it. He would do anything to protect Dean, and the others he cared about, from the Rowleys. He was a grown man now in Delphoin culture, and he would be a victim no longer.

Ty found him in the barn a few days later. Travel grime caked his clothes. “You bastard son a of a whore! You’re going to buy wood and fix those stairs!”

“I will,” Castiel agreed, trying to tamp down the instant anger that rose in him whenever he had to speak to the Rowleys; whenever he remembered what they had done to Dean. He faced Ty directly, and was surprised to realize the old man was shorter than him now. But Ty was not weak. A vitriolic, violent hatred seethed in the older man, as if it fortified him, and gave him strength to keep those old bones alive.

“But understand one thing, Ty. The Sphinx is dead because you tried to kill Dean. If you try to kill Dean again, I will kill _you._ ” His flat, even tone made Ty blink. The old man swore, a long, filthy string of obscenities that burned Castiel’s ears. However, Cas did not flinch, and just stared implacably at Ty until he finished the diatribe.

“Like I said,” Castiel said calmly. “Do not harm my friends.” Although he outwardly displayed cool calm, hot, furious violence trembled in his core, and it manifested in a slight twitch of his fingers. “I mean what I say.”

Lightning cracked overhead, and thunder rumbled. Rain hissed from the suddenly darkening sky.

Ty looked overhead and smiled. “I see you do mean it. Good. We needed rain.” He turned and strode away.

 _No._ Castiel looked skyward. It wasn’t possible.

But Ty had implied...and it wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed Castiel’s mind, either.

Cas always felt the storms...but did he actually _cause_ some of them, too?

*****

Months slid by. Normal storms appeared and blew away. The Rowleys left Castiel alone. He wasn’t sure why, but he was glad. In November, foul black smoke curled from the Rowley’s chimney again.

In the meantime, on his day off each week, Castiel usually spent time talking to James in Athina. The old man’s memory appeared to be improving, little by little. “It might be the well water,” James guessed one day, so Castiel brought him a bucket whenever he could. And he asked James questions about everything. Cas’s mind felt thirsty for knowledge, and finally James directed him to Harry Purcival, Ana’s father.

“He owns a lot of books, and he’s the smartest man I know. He can help you, son, more than I can. My brain is a little better, but it’s a slow process. As I remember, I’ll tell you more, too.”

Harry appeared to be delighted to teach Castiel everything he knew about math and science, and he let Cas borrow books from his bookshelves at home. As the months slid into winter, the Purcivals frequently invited him over for Sunday dinner after church. Castiel occasionally attended the small church, too. When he did, he brought his Bible, and wore the nice blue shirt that Dean had purchased for him. He decided he liked church, and he always enjoyed spending time with the Purcivals.

Ana was clearly delighted that she got to see Castiel more often, too. One day in the spring, as they sat at the table, waiting for Harry to arrive, and for Priscilla to bring the final dish to the table, she whispered, “Castiel, I need to ask you something very important.”

He smiled at the child. “You’re ten now, Ana. You’re too old for me to push you in the swing.”

“No, silly. This is super important.” Her pale blue eyes sparkled with earnest determination.

“What, then? I’ll give you up to half my kingdom.”

She giggled. “I... Castiel...” She looked suddenly nervous, and gulped from her glass of water.

“What is wrong?” He frowned with concern.

“Castiel.” She faced him, and her small hand curled around his larger, tanned one. “I hope you won’t think this is weird. Or strange. But I want to ask you something.”

Harry slipped into his chair. “You’re too young to ask him to marry you, Ana,” he teased.

To Castiel’s surprise, she sent her father a fierce glare. “No, Daddy. That’s not it at all. Cas,” she addressed him again, her eyes beseeching, “I love you. I don’t know how to explain it, but you feel like my brother. It’s weird, but in my heart it’s always felt this way. It feels true. It feels right. That you _are_ my brother.”

Castiel blinked, speechless.

Harry said, “Ana.”

“Please, Castiel.” Ana tightened her grip on his hand. “Will you be my brother? Forever and for always?”

Priscilla whispered, “Ana, honey...” as she set the last, piping hot dish on the table.

Castiel felt overwhelmed, and touched. He didn’t know quite how to respond, but he managed to find words. Hopefully the right words. Gravely, he said, “I would be honored, Ana. I would be honored to be your brother, and to call you my sister.” Emotion welled in his throat, choking him. “Thank you.”

Ana’s smile looked as radiant as the sun. She hugged him. “Thank you, Cas. Thank you!” She buried her face in his chest, and Castiel gently held her close. He didn’t recognize the feeling rising in his chest. Affection. Love. Belonging. He cared about Ana like a sister, too, and he had for quite a while, although he hadn’t tried to name the feeling. And now, she had asked him to join her family. 

When Ana pulled free and happily picked up the serving spoon, Castiel turned to Harry and Priscilla. Doubt suddenly clouded the joy in his heart. Maybe they didn’t want him to be a part of their family. Maybe Ana had stepped outside the bounds of what was proper. Probably he was expecting and hoping too much.  “I...”

“Castiel.” Priscilla hurried around the table and hugged him, too. “We would be honored for you to join our family. You already are a member, didn’t you know? You have been for a long time. Ever since you saved Ana’s life.”

Harry stood, and Castiel did, too. Harry shook Castiel’s hand firmly. “You’re welcome here, Castiel. You always will be.”

“Thank you.” He swallowed, and sat down again. A lump filled his throat. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to feel. Finally, he slid the spoon through the mashed potatoes and smushed a small pile onto his plate. Meat and gravy followed next. He glanced up at Harry and Priscilla again, and drew an unsteady breath. “Thank you.”

A warm smile pulled at Priscilla’s lips, and she glanced at Harry, who grinned at Cas. “You’re the blessing to us, Castiel.”

Ana kept glancing over at him and grinning as the meal progressed, until finally Castiel began to relax a little. Joy kept overwhelming him. He felt happy. For the first time since Dean had left, he was truly happy. Everything still felt the same—except now he felt like he belonged, a little bit more, in the Purcivals’ house.

Dessert was fruit, and cake with whipped cream. Castiel and Ana both ate the whipped cream first, then the cake and then the berries.

Harry smiled, watching them. “It’s true. You two are peas in a pod. Something about you...”

“Cas is an orphan like me, Daddy.” Ana licked the last of the berry juice off of her spoon.

Priscilla’s spoon stopped, halfway to her mouth, and she sent Harry a look of consternation. “Ana.”

“It’s okay, Mommy. I know you and Daddy love me. My real mommy loves me, too. But she says my real family is here with you now. And she appreciates what good care you’re taking of me.”  

Castiel had believed that Ana had forgotten about her fantasy of having a different mother. One who visited her at midnight on her birthday. Apparently she hadn’t. It also appeared this was the first time her parents had heard about it.

Priscilla’s mouth opened and closed. “Harry...”

“Ana,” Harry said gently. “Why don’t you think we’re your real parents?”

Ana’s face paled. She suddenly looked stricken. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m...I’m just so happy about Castiel. I didn’t want anymore secrets.”

“Secrets?” her mother whispered.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Mommy. I love you and Daddy very much.”

Harry looked just as flabbergasted as Priscilla did. She held a napkin to her wet eyes.

Castiel felt alarmed as he glanced from Priscilla to Harry. Ana’s childish fantasy was hurting the people she loved most. “Ana...”

Harry interrupted, “Ana, tell us why you’re talking like this.”

Her mouth trembled, and she blinked quickly. “It’s true isn’t it? I’m not your birth child. Am I?”

Priscilla gasped, and pressed the cloth to her soaking wet eyes.

Tears slipped down Ana’s face. “Daddy?”

Harry swallowed and looked down at his food.

Ana said in small voice. “Please tell me the truth, Daddy. Please.”

“I....”

“No,” Priscilla said. Her voice sounded loud in the hushed room. “You’re not our birth child, Ana, but we love you so much!” She gasped on sob. “In our hearts, you _are_ our child.”

“Thank you, Mommy.” Ana’s face looked pinched, and desperately unhappy. “I love you and Daddy too, with my whole heart. Please don’t worry.”

Priscilla gasped, “How can we not worry? How can you _know_ any of this?”

Ana looked at Castiel. “It’s a long story. And I’m not sure you’ll believe it.”

“I think we’ll believe anything right about now. Because there’s no way you could know...”

“My real mommy told me when I was four.”

Harry’s hand covered his eyes. “How? Where?”

“In my room,” she said innocently. “She visits me on my birthday, every year, right at the end. At midnight, before the next day starts. Except for years when the Winter Solstice doesn’t come on my birthday. She won’t come next year. But she did come this year, and she said she’ll miss me next time.”

Castiel was still trying to get his head around Ana’s story. She’d just said her mother visited her every year, but not on the years when her birthday didn’t fall on the Winter Solstice. It reminded him of his own birthday. Sometimes it didn’t land on Midsummer’s Eve, either.

Priscilla gasped. “What are you saying, Ana?”

“My mommy can’t live here. She lives in stardust, and she can’t take me home with her.”

Silence elapsed, while her parents clearly tried to grapple with Ana’s strange story.

“The church found you on the _bridge_ ,” Harry said. “You were abandoned!”

Ana bit her lip. “She says she didn’t want to leave me, but I was pro...prohib...”

“Prohibited?”

“Yes. Prohibited. My mommy and my real daddy were not supposed to love each other. It broke the rules of heaven, she said. And so they had to send me to live here. In Delphoi. Until I turn seventeen, and then I can go home.”

“ _Home?_ ” Priscilla cried. “Where is home?”

“Wherever I choose to live. She said it will be my choice. I can decide then.”

Castiel’s heart pounded hard in his chest. He swallowed. “The Rowleys found me near the well.”

Priscilla glanced at him, but then back at Ana. Clearly, Ana was her real priority. “Ana, honey...”

But Ana latched onto Castiel’s words like a leech. She grabbed his arm. “You see. Maybe we _are_ real brother and sister, Castiel. Just like I feel in my heart.”

Priscilla glanced at Harry, and it was clear she thought her daughter had lost her mind. “Ana, are you feeling well? Perhaps you should lie down.”

Ana jumped up. “ _No,_ ” she shouted. “I’m telling you the truth. I always tell you the truth. Castiel, I wish I’d thought of this before. What if...what if you _are_ my real brother. You’re seventeen. What if you can make your choice now? You could leave the Rowleys. You could be with Dean.”

Castiel’s heart jerked hard with hope at that thought. “But I need the well water to live. It’s still true. Sometimes I go without it because I’m too busy to draw it, but nothing else satisfies. I still have to have it to live.”

“Maybe our mother has to set you free. Maybe you need to see her, face to face, and then she can set you free.”

“Ana!” Harry bellowed. “You’re talking nonsense. And you’re confusing Castiel. Go to your room, while your mother and I talk this out.”

“No.” Trembling, Ana stood her ground. “Don’t you see, Daddy? This isn’t just about me. It’s about Castiel now, too.”

Harry turned to Cas. In a quieter, controlled voice, he said, “Has your mother ever visited you on Midsummer’s Eve?”

“No. But...”

“But what?”

“The Rowleys. They always build a bonfire every Midsummer’s Eve. Echna chants strange things. They shoot fireworks into the air. They feed me arnot root so I’ll be sick, and sleep through the whole thing.”

Harry fell silent, and Castiel continued, piecing together the different threads, like a tapestry tattered and torn apart by malicious fingers. “They didn’t make a bonfire when I turned sixteen last year. Midsummer’s Eve wasn’t on my birthday.”

“What about this year?”

“They did. And they poisoned Dean. It nearly killed him, and it distracted me.”

Harry sighed, and looked at Priscilla. She looked back at him. “Castiel...please answer me carefully here.” He leaned forward. “Don’t encourage Ana, if there’s any chance at all she’s fabricating fantasies.”

Ana looked at Castiel with pleading in her eyes. He had to tell the truth.

Voice rough, he said, “Dean found my baby trunk. The one that was left at the well. And inside it was a torn note. It said, ‘If you take care of Castiel, he will take care of you.’”

Harry and Priscilla exchanged glances again. Harry said, “The well water.”

“Yes. I’m the only one who can pump the healing well water.”

“And both you _and_ Ana can’t survive without the well water,” Priscilla murmured. She put her hands to her face. “Oh, _God_. It’s true,” she wept.

Castiel felt stunned. The new theories...facts...felt almost beyond his comprehension. Right now, he wished Dean was here. He wished he could share this new discovery with his best friend. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered.

“The Rowleys hate you, Castiel,” Ana said. “They don’t want you to meet our mother. That’s why they hurt you every year. They don’t want you to be free. They want to keep you chained to their farm forever.”

“Yes.” Castiel believed this. But his head swam. He’d barely wrapped his mind around the idea that Ana wanted him to be her adopted brother, and now suddenly it appeared he might be her _real_ brother. And...and he was the product of a forbidden union? That fact might explain why his life was such a mess. It also probably meant there were more worlds than the four the Rowleys had drawn on their diagram. He had no idea what world his mother or father might live in, but it seemed it must be very separate and different than the one here.

More thoughts entered his mind. “I’ll bet the Rowleys want to keep me until they make the Philosopher’s Stone. They need the money the well water brings in...and maybe they think they need me to actually help make the Stone, too. But at the same time, they hate me. I don’t know why. And they hate Dean on principle, because he’s my friend. But they probably hate him the most because he’s a danger to them. He disrupts their lives. But more importantly, he’s changed my life. Maybe they’re afraid we’ll stop their Great Work together.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry said.

So Castiel hesitantly explained the facts and theories that the Winchesters and he had formed last summer. “I know it sounds crazy. But something is going on, and we’re trying to figure out what it is.”

“But we don’t know anything. Not really. Maybe nothing is going on at all,” Harry said.

“Maybe not. But dead Greek monsters are coming back to life. Dean and I have killed two. We think the Rowleys have summoned them.”

“From Hades?”

“Cerberus guards the underworld, according to Greek mythology. He won’t let anyone out. But these creatures...they’re like shadows of the real thing. Sometimes they are real, and other times they’re like ghosts. But they can kill.”

“So the Rowleys are up to no good.”

“I’ve never liked them,” Priscilla said through thinned lips.

“It seems to me,” Harry said slowly, “that we have a great number of theories. Few facts. We don’t even know if there is a real threat to all of us, in Delphoi.”

“James said the violent storms are the beginning. I think things will get worse as the day gets closer,” Castiel said.

“We haven’t had any horrible storms this year,” Harry pointed out.

“I think the Rowleys are waiting. Maybe they’re planning.  And Dean and I think...we’re sure something will close our portal this year. I’m sure it will be the Rowleys. I don’t know how they’ll do it. But it will buy them time to continue their work.”

“You need to figure this out, Cas!” Ana exclaimed. “You can’t let them keep you away from Dean! Sam, either. Although, maybe that would be okay...”

“Ana,” Priscilla said.

Ana grinned unrepentantly. “What will you do, Castiel? What can I do to help?”

“ _Nothing._ ” Castiel could not say that hard or fast enough. “Nothing, Ana. You stay away from them, or they will hurt you. I don’t have another hagstone to protect you.”

“Although I do have a lead on one. It might arrive in June,” Harry said. “And it will wipe out your bank balance.”

“That is fine. Please, do everything you can to get it here.”

“I will. And Ana will stay away from the Rowleys. Agreed, Ana?” Harry gave his daughter a hard look.

“Okay, Daddy.”

But Castiel worried. Ana was good at skipping free of her parents. Long ago, he’d thought the Purcivals didn’t watch her closely enough. But now he wondered if Ana’s independence and high spirits were the problem. “Listen to your father, Ana.”

“I _will_ , I said.”

 When Castiel finally went home that night, he lay awake for a long time. Harry was right. These were all just theories. But finally, things were starting to make sense. And the idea that he still had a real mother out there... One who loved him, and was trying to reach him... It made him feel hopeful. That he wasn’t a mistake, after all. That he was loved. And the thought that Ana was his sister, and that the Purcivals had adopted him into their family meant the world to him.

If it was up the Rowleys, he’d stay miserable and chained to their farm forever. Or until he’d fulfilled his purpose. If Ana’s theory was right, then the Rowleys had deliberately driven his mother away every year. And they would continue to do so—and drive Dean out of his life, too—until he could find a way to stop them.


	40. Chapter 40

Harry delivered the extra hagstone, a beautiful black, red and white striped stone, to Castiel in early June. It wiped out most of his money in the bank, but he didn’t care. If Dean made it through the portal this year, he’d need it. He kept it in his pocket for safe keeping.

As the days passed, drawing closer to June 20th, worry knotted harder and harder in Castiel’s chest. He checked the laurel trees once a day, but they were fine. And hundreds of tight buds promised beautiful blossoms soon.

Something bad was going to happen, though. He felt it, deep in his soul. In his heart. And it made him _sick_. When he prayed to God for Dean’s well-being and safety, as he did every day, he prayed that the portal would stay open. That he could see Dean this year. That if the Rowleys were going to do something to stop them from meeting, that he’d be given wisdom to know how to stop them.

Two days before his birthday, he spent twenty minutes on his knees in his shack, head buried in his arms on the bed, praying.  Begging God for wisdom. The horrible fear felt overwhelming, and he felt unable to think about little else. He went about his chores like an empty-headed servant. He decided he’d take his entire birthday off.

On June 19th he brought a bucket of fresh well water to the Purcivals, and Priscilla invited him inside for a cool drink. It was hot outside, although clouds hovered overhead, promising rain. The heavy black clouds matched his mood. He wondered if they had formed _because_ of his mood. He’d had few opportunities to check his storm making theory this year, as both his life and the weather had remained unusually calm. An old saying flitted through his mind, and he tried to dismiss it. The calm before the storm.

“Thank you.” He followed Priscilla inside, and discovered Ana plunking keys on the piano.

“Castiel!” She twinkled up at him and scooted over, patting the seat beside her. “Are you excited? It’s almost your birthday. Will you try to see our mother?”

Lately, Castiel had barely thought about his possible mother who lived in the stars—if Ana was correct in her theories. He’d been too worried about Dean, and if the portal would open up again this year. “No. I still don’t know how to stop the Rowleys from driving her away.”

“Maybe you can meet her when it’s my birthday. Not this December, because she won’t come. But the next one.”

Castiel nodded. “That’s a good idea, Ana. Thank you.”

Her fingers twinkled over the keys, creating a beautiful, lilting melody.

“You’re talented,” he praised with a small smile. “Dean is, too. He plays the guitar. He writes songs, too.”

“What about Sam? Does he play anything?”

Castiel snorted. “Video games.”

“Games?” Ana frowned, and then she tilted her nose in the air. However, she couldn’t quite hide her small smile. “Sounds just like him.”

Castiel smile faded when he remembered last summer, and Dean’s fingers gently strumming the guitar strings. And the beautiful melodies that still wound through his heart.

“Castiel? What’s wrong?”

“I’m worried.”

“About Dean? He’ll come tomorrow, right?”

“I don’t know.” His voice sounded thick, and his heart hurt.

Ana looked at him for a grave moment and then she placed a small, comforting hand on his back. “It’ll be okay, won’t it? Why wouldn’t he come?”

“He’ll try to come. But I have a terrible feeling the Rowleys are going to stop him. That they’re planning to end our meetings. Forever.”

“Cas! How? What could they do?”

“I don’t know!” Castiel stood, rubbed his hands on his jeans and paced. He accepted a cold glass of lemonade from Priscilla with a quiet, “Thank you.”

Priscilla settled on the arm of the couch. “What’s wrong?”

Ana quickly caught her up to speed. “And now Cas is afraid those horrible Rowleys will do something. So Dean can’t come.”

Priscilla frowned. “Let’s think about this logically. It seems to me they can stop the meeting three different ways. One is to hurt you, Castiel.”

“But I have the hagstone. They can’t touch me. Neither can their monsters.”

“Or they could hurt Dean.”

“I plan to wait at the laurel trees all day. Maybe even go to Dean’s side and wait.”

“Or,” Priscilla finished, “they could close the portal for good.” She sipped her drink.

That made sense. More fear gripped his heart. “Yes. I think that’s what they’ll do. It makes sense, and I...feel it. I just don’t know how to stop it.” He paced more, running his hand through his hair so it stood on end. “I don’t know what to do!”

Silence elapsed. The only sounds were Castiel’s agitated footsteps and the ticking clock in the corner.

“I know what I’d do,” Ana piped up. Her fingers jammed down on discordant piano keys. “I’d kill the laurel trees.”

Castiel drew a harsh breath. “Yes. _Of course!_ ” He set down the lemonade. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“Run quickly, Castiel!” Ana shouted after him.

Castiel tore up the hill, past the barn, through the woods, and to the laurel trees. He panted, jogging to a stop. The trees still looked healthy and fine. Still not blossoming yet. 

Hands shaking, he knelt down in the earth, grabbed a sharp rock and dug a deep hole near the base of one laurel tree. He dropped the new hagstone into the hole and covered it up again. He scattered leaves over the disturbed earth, in order to cloak his activities. Then he dug another hole at the base of the other tree, untied the hagstone from the cord around his neck, and buried that one, too, just like the other one.

Heart pounding, he sat back on his heels. He’d done it. The Rowleys could not kill _or_ enchant the trees now.

A tiny, slithering sound touched his ears. Before he could turn, rough hands grabbed his arms, wrenching them behind his back, and a dark, smelly bag scratched down, hard, over his face.  Castiel fought viciously, using his brute strength to combat the hands pushing him into the ground. But now it felt like dozens of hands—or fingers or tentacles—slid over his body, wrapping tightly around him, immobilizing him.

“Hold still, Castiel,” Echna cackled. “Or the Hydra will bite you. His poison is fatal. He didn’t kill Dean last time, because of the hagstone you leant him, but he could kill you now. Foolish boy, burying your only protection under a tree.”

“Let me go!”

Something that felt like a snake slid around his head and his jaw, and tightened, sealing off his mouth, and choking off his cry. He could barely breathe through the thick bag, and with his mouth covered, he panicked, unable to get enough air. _He was suffocating._ Fear flamed in his mind, and his brain went foggy, and then utterly black.


	41. Chapter 41

Dean drove steadily, hands gripped hard on the Impala’s wheel, heading west. Urgency rode him like a bitch. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The uneasy feeling had started abruptly that afternoon, while they were still in Idaho. Sammy rode in the car with him, and John followed behind in his own vehicle. His father had rented the cabin again, and they’d arrive in four long hours. At midnight.

“You’re driving twenty miles over the speed limit again,” Sam told him helpfully, scarfing down the last chips in the bag. At fourteen, the kid was growing like a weed.

Dean gritted his teeth, but slowed down a little. Behind him, John flashed his lights, indicating he wanted to pull over at the next exit, but Dean ignored him. John pulled off anyway.

“You left Dad behind.”

“We’ll catch up at the cabin.” His brusque tone told Sam to can it.

A long silence elapsed. Finally, Sam said in a serious voice, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t explain it. Something’s wrong. I needed to get there _yesterday_.”

“The trees probably won’t bloom until tomorrow.”

“Not helpful.”

“I want to come this time. I want to help.”

Dean glanced at his brother. Tension ate away at his stomach, and chewed on his nerves, but he was grateful for his brother’s desire to help. “Thanks, Sammy. But I got this one. Some serious shit is going down, and I don’t want you involved.”

Sam sighed. “You know I’ll go hunting with you and Dad next year. I need to practice somewhere.”

“Somewhere safe. Like a salt and burn. Not with crazy-assed monsters that should be in Hades.”

Sam fell silent, and the long hours slowly passed. As soon as they rolled up the long drive to the cabin and parked, Dean grabbed a flashlight and a gun and headed for the woods. Sam followed him, but he ignored that fact.

“See,” Sam said, when the flashlight shone on the tightly budded laurel trees. “You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

Dean tried to walk through the gateway anyway. It didn’t work, and he growled in frustration. “Something’s wrong, Sammy. I feel it!”

“Get some sleep.” Sam’s surprisingly gentle voice sounded reasonable, as if he were the older brother right now. “Then you can take down any new monsters tomorrow.”

“Yeah. R _rrr_.” Dean scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Frustrated doesn’t cut it here.”

“I’ll cover for you with Dad. Just get in the house first and pretend you’re asleep. I’ll tell him you’re tired. You don’t need a lecture right now, about ditching Dad the way you did.”

“Okay. Thanks, Sammy.” Reluctantly, Dean turned away from the sentinel trees that called to his gut, and walked back to the cabin. “You’re kinda okay for a kid.”

“And you’re kinda okay for a jerk.” Sam yelped when Dean gave his shaggy head a hard rub. “I take that back!”

*****

Dean strode between the blooming laurel trees at dawn the next morning, armed with a gun, an assortment of knives, salt, a flashlight, and of course his hagstone. He also carried a lighter, in case he needed to salt and burn something. Not likely, but he wanted to be prepared for every possibility.

Sam hadn’t followed him. He’d made sure of that before leaving the woods and entering Castiel’s small home. It lay quiet and empty. Dust motes floated in the light streaming through the windows. It felt quiet. Deserted. As if Cas hadn’t been there in a while. It fed the unease slithering through his gut. He knew Cas often rose at dawn, but he usually didn’t start work until a little later.

The barn was empty, too. He saw no one in the fields or garden, which Cas spent back breaking hours tending. Dean strode for the village and soon pounded on the Purcivals’ door. Maybe it was an ungodly hour of the morning, but he needed to find Cas. Now.

Harry opened the door and blinked owlishly at him. “Dean? What are you doing here?”

The door opened further, and Ana appeared, looking taller than last year. Her face lit up. “Dean! Castiel must be so happy to see you!”

“Where _is_ Cas?” he demanded roughly. “Have you seen him?”

“He’s not at the farm?” Harry frowned.

“No.”

“Castiel was here yesterday,” Ana told him. “He figured out how the Rowleys were going to close your portal, Dean. He ran home to fix it.”

“How? What was he going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I can’t find him anywhere. Those Rowley sons of bitches must have him.” Dean spun on his heel and strode back the way he’d come.

“Dean! Be careful,” Harry called.

Dean grunted, and kept going. Those crazy Rowleys were going to pay. This was the last _straw_.

The shop was his first stop. He vaulted up the steps and slammed his shoulder against the door. It flew open. Empty, except for old produce.

Dean strode back out, and up the hill. He didn’t bother to knock on the Rowley’s door, and just strode inside like he owned the place.

Where _were_ those sons of bitches? He felt the violent need to use his fists to coerce information from some evil psychopaths. He yanked up the cellar door, flipped on the flashlight, and ran down the stairs. No Sphinx greeted him, and the black door was firmly shut. He rammed his shoulder into it. No dice. So he whipped out his gun and shot the area where the locking mechanism lived. He’d noted it the last time he and Cas had visited.

The door swung open, wafting dank, putrid air into his face. Flashlight in one hand and gun in the other, he sidled in sideways, and turned, covering the room. Shadows flickered around the edges of the lab. As if something lived and moved inside. The Sphinx?

He remembered seeing small torches on the wall when he’d been in there the last time, and a quick glance found one near him. A flare from his lighter set it ablaze, and the room flickered to muted, orange light. Something circled in the room. He couldn’t quite see it. It was filmy. Partially transparent.

“Show yourself, you son of a _bitch_.”

A forked tongue hissed near his face, and with a curse, Dean jumped back. A poisonous looking yellow cloud floated from the serpent’s mouth. The gaseous vapor hovered before Dean, but stopped before curling into his nostrils, as if hitting an invisible barrier. The hagstone. Lucky break. The internet hadn’t failed him.

The hissing head bobbed on its serpentine neck. And then another tongue flicked near his ear, and another head swooped for him.

Dean ducked and bolted across the floor. What in the _hell_...? The heads followed him, but stopped just shy of touching him. More gasses filled the air. Dean couldn’t smell them, but he’d bet if he wasn’t wearing the hagstone they wouldn’t smell pretty.

The beast filled the room, moving and slithering like Medusa. _Was_ it Medusa? Why hadn’t he learned more Greek mythology? How was Medusa killed?

The serpentine heads twined together and lunged at him. Dean spun aside. Even though they couldn’t seem to touch him, he couldn’t stop his basic instinct to dodge them.

“Use your brain,” he muttered. “Count their heads.” It was hard, for they undulated and bobbed and lunged constantly, their fangs dripping something that looked like blood. The red liquid sizzled into the floor. Nine. He counted nine heads. And the center one seemed the biggest. As if it ran the operation.

So, how could he kill the monster? It wasn’t as if he had Sammy’s computer right now. Or a how-to book on killing weird Greek mutants.

He grabbed his silver knife and slashed through the neck of the nearest bobbing head. The creature screamed, and blood poured out, hissing and foaming onto the floor like acid. Dean jumped backward, not sure how far to push his luck with the hagstone. When he glanced back up, he discovered the monster had grown back two heads in the place of the one original head.

“Damn it to _hell!_ ” Open-mouthed with bewilderment and panic, Dean weighed his options. Escaping into the courtyard seemed like his best option. But then he’d leave this monster alive and kicking, ready to hurt Cas in the future. And he had no doubt the monster had something to do with Cas’s disappearance.

What if he was dead? What if the Rowleys had used the poisonous gas or acidic blood to torture Cas? To kill him.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean leaped across the room, moving on hunter’s instinct; improvising, as he so often needed to do on a hunt. He grabbed the torch off the wall and flashed it in the nearest serpent’s glowing red eyes. It flinched back, and then bobbed forward again. Great. With one violent motion, he sliced off the neck, and jammed the torch onto the stump. The horrible scent of charred flesh filled his nostrils. The creature screamed, and writhed in agony. The head did not grow back.

“Got your number, bitch,” he muttered, and waded into battle, slicing and burning, decapitating the monster until only one head remained. The biggest head. The organism’s heart and soul.  “Get ready to meet your maker,” he muttered, and swung the knife. It sliced through empty air. Taken aback, he jammed the flaming torch down the monster’s throat. The beast turned into shadows, eating the flame as if it was dessert.

Orthros. Cas had killed Orthros with an olive wood club. Dean may not have an olive wood club right now, but maybe with this monster, any club would do. He shoved one of Echna’s tables onto its side and used his foot to break off a table leg. He replaced the torch on the wall, resheathed the knife, and circled the monster, who faded in and out of time and space. Its headless appendages writhed. “All bark and no bite now, huh?” he taunted through gritted teeth.

The single head’s eyes glowed a red, milky color. Pretty easy to guess it wanted to eat him alive.

“Bet you’re stuck, aren’t you?” Dean mocked. “Echna chained you here, on guard, didn’t she? Like a dog. You can’t escape back to whatever nasty bat cave you live in. Face me like a man, you son of a bitch. _Come and get me_ ,” he growled.

But the apparition remained frustratingly transparent. Dean needed to find a way to shock it into the present. His lips curled when he thought of an idea.

“Yeah. Bet you didn’t see this back in the day.” He pulled out the gun and shot the beast right between the eyes. Its body convulsed, darkened, and he swung down the club with all of his strength. The impact shuddered up his arms. He hit the monster again, and again. Blood and brain matter flew, but he didn’t stop, completely overcome with fury, toasted that the Rowleys had set this monster on Cas. That they had dared to hurt him.

The beast let out a mighty groan, and vanished in a puff of black smoke. Breathing hard, Dean glanced around the room. Empty. Silent. He’d killed it. His feeling of  triumph didn’t last long, though. _Cas._ He must be in the courtyard.

Dean wrenched open the door and pure sunlight hit his face. “Cas!”

A groan drew his gaze downward. A blue jean clad, gray T-shirted body lay sprawled on the ground, hands tied behind him, feet lashed together. A dark bag was cinched over his head.

“ _Cas!_ Damn it. Cas!” Dean shot a quick glance around the courtyard, scanning for more threats before putting down his gun. Swiftly, he slit the rope beneath Castiel’s chin that held the bag cinched shut. Carefully cradling his friend’s head, he pulled off the bag, heart in his throat, afraid of what he’d find. A gag pulled Castiel’s lips back and wedged between his teeth. Angry scratches marked his face. His blue eyes looked dazed, and his dark hair wild.

“Cas.” Anxiety gripped Dean’s heart. Quickly, he freed him from the gag and ropes. Castiel’s wrists and ankles looked like bloody hamburger. Anger seared him, and made him shake, seeing his friend like this. Helpless. Abused. It reminded him of when Rowley had nearly beaten Cas to death. “ _Cas._ Are you okay?”

“Dean.” Castiel licked his lips. “You came.”

Relief filled him, just hearing Cas’s low, quiet voice. “Of course I did.” He helped him sit up and lean against the wall. Above them, rodents hung from their nooses. His fists tightened, fighting the visceral urge to punch something.

“Dean.” Castiel licked his dry lips again, his eyes half-lidded. “You need to go.”

“What? Why?” Dean knelt beside him, wondering if he had suffered a blow to the head. He reached out, and his fingers gently ran through Cas’s short, soft dark hair, checking his skull. Castiel’s eyes opened completely. The intensity of his gaze made Dean’s heart knot up in his chest. Time seemed to stop.

“Dean,” Castiel said softly.

What was he doing? Having another chick flick moment with his best friend? He couldn’t seem to look away from Castiel’s blue gaze, but he managed to find the presence of mind to withdraw his hand. He drew an unsteady breath. “Yeah, Cas. I’m not going anywhere.” For a moment, he had to look away from Cas, from the unsettled flutterings in the pit of his stomach. He scooted back, next to his friend, their shoulders touching as they leaned against the wall. “I have five days, and as soon as we get out of here, we’ll spend them together.”

“We can’t.” Cas’s throat worked, and he swallowed with apparent difficulty. We’re on different time paths, Dean.”

“What do you mean?”

“Each minute here means six hours in real time. You can’t get stuck...” He coughed. It sounded dry and sticky.

“Each minute equals six hours? I have five days, Cas.” Anxiety tightened his chest, however. And anger. Somehow, Cas had managed to keep their laurel tree portal open. But the Rowleys had still managed to find a way to steal time away from them. Dean wanted to _tear up_ the Rowleys with his bare hands. “I’m not leaving you now. I just found you.”

“Four minutes equals one day. Four times five equals twenty. You should leave after sixteen minutes, just to be on the safe side. Set your watch. Go on, do it.”

Dean stared at him. The guy was doing math, determined to keep Dean safe, while Cas was the one who’d been kidnapped and hurt.  “Right.” He clicked the button. “It’s set. We’ve got sixteen minutes. Cas, how long have you been here?”

“The Rowleys left me tied up in the lab all night. I’ve been in the courtyard about six hours. When I go through that gate, it will be three months from now, Dean..”

“Three months!”

“Please.” Cas licked his lips. “We don’t have much time. Let’s not waste it on math, or...anything. I just want to talk to you.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. He scanned his friend’s face. A small smile pulled at Cas’s scratched lips, and Dean couldn’t help but smile back.

“You look well, Dean. Have you had a good year?”

“Better than last one. Not much to tell. Not much hunting. I learned more about fixing cars from Bobby.”

“I’m sure your Impala...” Cas coughed, tongue obviously trying to work the spit around in his mouth, “is looking good.”

“You need water,” he said roughly.

“Later.” His eyelids drooped again. It worried Dean, and he wished he could do something to help him feel better. “Stop changing the subject. We’re talking about you.”

“I missed you,” Dean admitted quietly.

Cas’s head turned fairly quickly, considering his condition, and he smiled. Quietly, he said, “I missed you, too, Dean.” Those blue eyes held his, and he couldn’t look away. He licked his lips. What was _wrong_ with him?

“Cas,” he muttered. “How can we talk about a year’s worth of stuff in sixteen minutes?”

“My year was okay,” Castiel murmured. “Except for the last twelve hours.”

“What happened? How did they get the jump on you?”

“Priscilla and Ana helped me figure out the Rowleys’ plan. They intended to kill the laurel trees. Probably with an enchantment. I ran all the way there yesterday afternoon, and buried my new hagstone at the roots of one. And the other...” Cas’s hand went to his throat, and Dean noticed the leather cord was missing.

“You buried your own hagstone. To protect the tree.” Then he realized the real truth. “To protect _us_.”

Cas slid a glance at him. “Yes. And it was worth it.” How he could say that with his face scratched, and wrists and ankles bleeding, Dean couldn’t comprehend.  Castiel seemed to read his mind. “Everything will be fine, Dean.”

“You’re right, it will.” He slipped his brand new hagstone from around his neck and slid the cord over Cas’s head. He settled the stone on his friend’s chest. “ _You_ will be fine.”

His fingers touched the smooth stone. “Dean. No...”

“Yes. You’re the one who needs it the most,” he said roughly. “Keep it.”

“But...”

“Don’t argue with me. Okay? I won’t let those sons of bitches touch you again. By the way, I ganked a monster in Echna’s lab just now. Nine heads. Ugly as hell.”

“Echna called it Hydra.”

“Well, another monster is dead. Now we just need to know how many more are coming.” Dean wanted to change the subject. He wanted to talk about _Cas_. “Tell me about your year.”

“I learned that Ana and I may have the same mother.” He quickly told Dean about Ana’s mother, and her theory that the Rowleys didn’t want Cas to meet her, or to be set free.

Dean’s fist clenched. “Those assholes! Where are they, anyway?”

“They left. They didn’t stay long in the courtyard. Probably because they know they’ll have to take care of the farm by themselves for long time.”

“I’m going to kill them.”

“Not now. You’re not protected. Promise me, Dean.”

“Since _you’re_ protected now, I’ll wait until next year. But then all bets are off.”

“How much time is left?”

“Seven minutes.”

Cas closed his eyes. “That’s not enough time.”

“No, it’s not.”


	42. Chapter 42

Castiel rested his aching head against the wall. He couldn’t stop looking at Dean. He drank in the shadowed angles and planes of his face, the freckles across his nose, and his green eyes. Stubble roughened his jaw. Looking at Dean felt like drinking in pure, sweet well water for his soul. Dean’s shoulder, touching Castiel’s, filled him with joy and peace, as if all was finally right in his world.

He didn’t want Dean to know how much his body hurt. The tension in his friend’s shoulders made it clear he burned to take revenge on the Rowleys right now. Cas wouldn’t make things worse. He didn’t want Dean to put himself in danger if Castiel couldn’t be there to help protect him.

He shifted a little, trying to find a more comfortable position. He felt bruised on the inside, and it wasn’t a surprise, after being carried, coiled up tight in serpent-like arms, and thrown on the ground in Echna’s lab. They’d left him there in the cold and dark for hours and hours, fighting for air...fighting panic. He’d finally realized that if he stayed calm and took small breaths, he would be fine.

None of that mattered now. Dean was here now. The Rowleys had failed. They might have succeeded in hurting Castiel, but they’d failed in their plan to keep him and Dean apart. They may only have a few minutes right now, but he intended to make them last. To enjoy every single moment with his best friend.

Dean glanced down, as if scrutinizing his hands. “So.” He looked up, his eyes dark and scrunched a bit, as if looking at the sun. “You found a girlfriend yet?”

Cas looked down. A little of his happiness slid away. “No. You?”

“Ahh...it’s been a weird year. Maybe next year.”

Castiel nodded. “Yeah.” He didn’t know why was agreeing. He had no interest in finding a girlfriend. He changed the subject. “James and Henry have been teaching me about philosophy, science and math. Harry has a wall full of books.”

Dean smiled. “You’re probably in heaven learning all that, Cas. You’re a genius.” The wry twist to his mouth said he couldn’t compete.

“Knowledge has value. But a person’s heart is what matters. Dean, you’re one of the best and wisest men I know. And the kindest, too.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Really, Cas? I’m a killer. You know that.”

“You save people. Just like you’ve saved me, right now.”

His shoulders shifted uncomfortably.

“Dean.” Castiel’s throat felt dry, but he swallowed, trying to work up enough spit to finish what he needed to say. He wanted to talk about things that mattered. Not books or monsters or the Rowleys. He wanted to talk to _Dean_. His next words came out in a scratchy whisper. “This last year has been hard. It’s been hard to live here without you.” His heart filled his throat, scared that Dean wouldn’t want to hear this. “I’ve missed you every single day.”

Dean looked at him quickly, and their gazes tangled. A quiet, intense moment elapsed. “I missed you, too, buddy.” His voice sounded rough. He swallowed, and his throat worked. “Want to know the truth?” His eyes squinted. “You confuse the _hell_ out of me, Cas.”

Castiel absorbed this. And decided to bare a little more of his heart. “I care about you, Dean. Why does that have to be confusing?”

“Man...” he shook his head. “This is a _whole_ lot more than caring.”

Tentatively, he said, “So you feel it, too?”

“Yes. _Damn it,_ Cas, yes.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“It’s just...I don’t know how to explain how I feel. It overwhelms me. Sometimes it scares me.”

“It scares me, too.”

“What _is_ this, then?”

Castiel pushed words past his throat. His tongue felt thick and clumsy, and it wasn’t because he was thirsty. “Would it be wrong if we call it love, Dean?”

Dean stared at him. His throat worked. “No.” Castiel could hardly hear the soft word. “But Cas...”

“Does love need to be labeled, Dean? It says in the Bible that Jonathon’s soul was knit to David’s. That kind of love is celebrated. It is written in the Bible, and is remembered as a very good thing. And that is how I feel about you. When you’re not here, I feel like part of me is missing.”

Dean closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. He sighed, and said very quietly, “I feel the same way.”

He cared about him, too. Joy lifted Castiel’s spirits, and he relaxed a little with relief. “Good.”

Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Yeah.” He shook his head. “If my dad and Sammy could see me now. That is _not_ a discussion I’d want to have. And not just because they’d never let me live down a chick flick moment like this.”

He didn’t seem too happy about the conversation, after all. “Being honest is not weak,” Castiel said sharply. “It is not a chick flick moment, which I know you think is stupid. I want to be honest with you. Do you want to be honest with me? Perhaps I’ve made a mistake. Should we forget this whole conversation?”

“ _No._ ” He finally looked at him again. “No, Cas.”

Dean’s alarm beeped, and he swore. “We aren’t done with this.”

Castiel looked away. He couldn’t help the disappointment that rose to choke him. “Whatever you want, Dean.” He rolled to his knees and pushed himself to his feet. Pain stabbed his bruised side and he flinched on the way up. Dean gripped his arm and helped him straighten.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Cas, you’re not fine. Talk to me.”

“I think I’ve said too much already. I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable.”

“Cas, _no_.”

Castiel frowned and looked away. It hurt that Dean was leaving. It hurt that Dean was clearly ashamed of feeling anything for him. It hurt that he didn’t appear to want Cas’s love; pure and raw and honest as it was.

Dean gripped Castiel’s arms and pulled him closer. “I can see you thinking, and it’s a bunch of crap. You’re the brave one, Cas. I’m the wimp, scared of emotional...closeness. I’m _sorry_. I care about you, Cas.”

Castiel finally met Dean’s gaze. He didn’t want this to end wrong. He’d swallow his pain. “I care about you, too, Dean.”

“Cas.” Dean pulled him close and wrapped his arms around him. He held him tight. Finally, Castiel relaxed a little, and hugged Dean back, absorbing the feel of his friend’s body, the scent of him, the essence that was only Dean. It comforted him, even though he fought the misery rising in his heart.

“Cas,” Dean spoke into his neck, and his breath felt warm and good against his skin. “It’s hard for me to talk about my feelings. But they’re there. I can’t deny them. And I don’t want to. But they scare me. Do you understand? I have trouble wrapping my head around them. Around _you_.”

Castiel’s arms tightened around him, and then let him go. “I understand.” And he did. Reluctantly, he stepped back.

Dean looked into Castiel’s eyes. Regret darkened his. “I’m sorry. I’ve screwed this whole thing up.”

“No. It’s okay for you to feel the way you do, Dean. I didn’t mean to pressure you into...into anything. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t. You’re just making me face the truth. And that’s not a crime.”

“You should go.”

“Cas. _Stop_ it. Look at me.”

Castiel’s heart hurt, and he knew it was stupid. He bit his lip. “You need to go, Dean.”

“ _Damn you_ , Cas.” Dean leaned in close, his forehead touching Castiel’s, and his hand gripped Cas’s nape. His grip relaxed, and his fingers slid, as soft as a caress, through his hair. “If I feel _anything_ for you, it is love.”

“Please don’t say things you don’t mean,” Castiel protested. Dean’s breath feathered across his lips, and he found it hard to breathe. To think. Blood pounded in his ears.

“I’m _not_ playing a game here. Damn it, it’s hard, but I’m telling you the truth.”

Castiel’s hands curled into Dean’s sides, fisting into the fabric of his shirt. He fought the urge to raise his lips, as if to the sun, to feel Dean’s breath more squarely on his mouth. He craved the sensation, but fought the confusing desire. “I believe you.”

“Good.” After another breath, Dean let him go. Castiel felt the loss as Dean stepped back, his gaze holding Castiel’s. Pain darkened his eyes, and a faint flush kissed his cheekbones. “Let’s meet at the laurel trees next year. Come to my side, where you’ll be safe.”

“All right.” Grief rose to swamp him as Dean stepped backward. Tears burned his eyes. “Have a good year, Dean.”

“Be careful.” Dean’s body movements looked stiff as he turned, as if it wasn’t something he wanted to do. He strode for the gate.

“You, too.” His heart ached, watching him go. He whispered, “I love you, Dean.”

Dean’s shoulders hitched, and he turned back. “I love you, too, Cas.” And then he pushed through the gate and disappeared.

Grief hit Castiel like a wall. As soon as the gate shut, he strode fast and pushed through it, hoping against hope that Dean might still be on the other side...that he was wrong about the time warp. That three months hadn’t passed.

But woodsmoke filled the air, and golden leaves fluttered on the trees. It was fall. And Dean had left three long months ago.


	43. Chapter 43

Dean strode fast for the laurel trees. It felt like his heart had been kicked and stomped by a bucking bronco, and now he was running from his feelings for Cas, but they dogged his steps, and wouldn’t quit. They burrowed like claws into his heart, making him want to cry and rage to the heavens, _why does it have to be this way?_ Why did it feel like he’d left his heart back there with Cas?

The fresh forest air filled his lungs as his steps carried him forward, and his heart burned, urging him back. To Castiel.

What was _wrong_ with him? Dean clenched his jaw and put a hand to his aching eyes. He did love Cas. With his whole heart and soul he loved Cas. It was stupid to deny it, when the truth was plain. It did feel like his soul was knitted to Castiel’s. Every time worlds and time tore them apart, it felt like the fabric of his heart ripped in two, too, and it hurt like _hell_.

So he loved Cas. So what, right? There were all different kinds of love. Friendship love. Family love. He wasn’t sure what kind of love this was, but the way Castiel had described it, it sounded like a Biblical sort of love. A good thing. Something that stood beyond time; a love written about for the ages. Something to be protected and cherished. Celebrated, even. It did not mean he was _gay_. No, it did not. He loved his father, and Sam, and Bobby. He loved his family. Was the love he felt for Cas any different?

A careful poking at his heart told him the truth. Yes. What he felt for Cas was very different than what he’d ever felt for anyone else. It was intense, and he couldn’t fully describe it, even to himself. Running from it, and from the pain that dogged his steps would solve nothing. It would change nothing, but he didn’t want to go through this next year wracked by misery again. It hurt. A hell of a lot, but he needed to go on with his life. He couldn’t see Cas for another year. They were never supposed to meet in the first place; they lived in different universes, for crying out loud. _Why_ was this happening? Why couldn’t he let Cas go?

“Damn it!”

“Dean?” Sam met him on the cabin’s porch. “Where have you been? Dad is _beyond_ mad.”

Dean didn’t want to rehash the last few hours...days, he guessed. All the same, he gave Sam the condensed version of events.

“What about Ana?” Sam surprised him by saying.

“What do you mean, ‘what about Ana?’”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “She needs the well water to survive too, right? With Cas gone for three months, who’s going to pump the water for her?”

“Oh, _shit_.”

The sound of wheels crunching up the driveway warned of John’s approach. “Sammy, I’ve got to head back. Tell Dad...”

“ _No._ No way. You tell him yourself. I’m not getting in the middle of that conversation.”

The car parked, and John slammed the door. His face looked like a thundercloud. “Dean. This is the last _straw_.”

“It’s a long story, Dad. Actually, a short one. I’ll tell you all about it, but right now, I need to get back, or Ana will die.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I’m going with him,” said Sam, sprinting after Dean, who already strode through the woods, not waiting to hear more angry words from his father.

“Be back by dinner time!” John bellowed.

Sam called, “We will, don’t worry!”

Dean only scowled, and picked up the pace. For the first time, he noticed that most of the laurel blossoms had fallen to the ground. “We don’t have much time. Come on, Sammy.”

In Cas’s world, Dean ran to Castiel’s shack and gathered up two of the three pails Cas always kept on hand. He left one behind for Cas, for when he finally returned home. “Next stop is the Rowleys’ shop.”

Echna and Ty were nowhere to be seen. Hopefully they hadn’t returned to normal time yet. Inside the shop, Dean urged Sam to grab two buckets of water. He did the same, and then they fast-walked down the hill into Delphoi, and to Ana’s house.

Priscilla answered the door, and Dean quickly explained what had happened, and that Castiel wouldn’t be back for three months, and what that meant for Ana.

Priscilla ushered them inside, and asked them to place the buckets in the kitchen. Ana appeared, running lightly down the stairs, as they headed out to grab more buckets of water.

“Sam!” She sounded very surprised, and maybe even a tiny bit pleased.

Sam flicked up a brow in greeting, and headed back out the door. Ana ran after them. “What are you doing here, Sam? And Dean, did you find Castiel?”

Dean swiftly explained the story for the third time as they headed for the Rowleys’ shop. He was getting tired of the telling. Of remembering the events over and over again. And Cas’s injuries. And leaving him behind. “You’ll need how many buckets for three months, Ana?”

“At least six. Eight would be better.”

“Then eight is what you’ll get.”

Ana dogged Sam’s steps up the hill. “You’re getting tall, and your hair is floppy,” she told him.

Sam didn’t say anything, but Dean shot him an amused glance. He could tell Sam itched to pull his famous bitch face, but good manners won out.

“Proud of you, Sammy,” he muttered, as they gathered up four more buckets. Ana grabbed one, too, and lugged it, holding it in both hands, as she followed after them.

“Echna will be mad,” Sam noted.

“Yeah?” Dean said. “Couldn’t care less.”

Ana walked faster, trying to keep up with Sam’s long strides. “You’re fast,” she said. “Maybe it’s because you have big feet. Like a puppy.”

Sam abruptly set down his bucket and turned to her. “Now listen here, little girl...”

“I’m ten. I’m not _little._ ”

“You’re a punk. And I know you have a crush on me...”

“Do _not!_ ” Ana looked aghast. Red suffused her face, to the very roots of her pale blond hair. “You are a gigantic oaf. A...a moose. And I hate you!”

Regret pulled at Sam’s features when she marched down the hill, water sloshing violently from her pail. Indignation trembled in her small, narrow shoulders.

Dean raised his eyebrow at Sam, telling him to fix it.

With a sigh, Sam caught up to Ana on her doorstep. “Ana.” But she hurried inside, and set her bucket down in the kitchen.

“Thank you, boys,” Priscilla said. “Thank you _so much_ for coming back to help Ana, and for saving Castiel, Dean. I know you care about him as much as we do. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

“Our pleasure,” Dean said gruffly. “Thank you for taking Cas into your family. It means a lot, knowing there’s someone here looking out for him.”

Priscilla’s smile softened. “Of course. We love him, too.”

“Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat and looked away, itching to escape. He couldn’t take any more touchy feely moments today. Just his luck, and Priscilla would start going on about Cas, and how wonderful he was, and Dean’s heart hurt too damn much right now. He couldn’t handle it. It made him feel sick, to be in Cas’s world and not be able to see him.

He noticed Ana standing near the kitchen doorway, arms folded, with a scowl contorting her features. She stared at the wooden kitchen floor as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Her toe traced invisible patterns in the wood.

“Ana,” her mother said. “Aren’t you going to thank Dean and Sam, too?”

“Thank you, Dean. Sam.” His brother’s name ended in a snap.

Priscilla’s brows drew together. “Ana...”

“No. It’s my fault, Mrs. Purcival,” Sam said. “I owe Ana an apology.”

Ana looked up, blinking angrily. Her eyes looked suspiciously moist. “I don’t like _boys_ , Sam Winchester. And if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be _you_.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I guess it hurt a little, being told I looked like a puppy.”

Priscilla’s eyes twinkled, and she put a hand to her mouth.

“Well, you do look like a puppy. But I happen to like puppies. Not that I like you. ...All that much.” Her lips twitched.

Sam grinned. “So, are we good? Peace?”

“Yes.” Her reluctant smile transformed into a sunny grin. “And I’m sorry, too. I’ll be nicer the next time I see you. _If_ you behave yourself.”

Sam laughed. “I think that might be difficult.”

Ana rolled her eyes, as if to say she believed it, but continued to smile.

“We’d better go, Priscilla,” Dean said. “We don’t have much time left to get through the trees.”

“See you next year, and thank you again, so much!”

Dean and Sam booked it back up the hill and through the laurel trees. A few blossoms remained, but they would be gone by morning.  Now to face the music with his father.

*****

Dean told the story for the fourth time today to his father.

“You did the right thing. And I’m proud of you, son,” John surprised him by saying.

Dean blinked.

“But I’m worried about you. This...thing...with Castiel has been going on for over a year now. And I don’t mean the friendship. I mean this... _whatever_ it is going on between you two.”

Dean’s heart caught in his chest and it squeezed hard with alarm. “It’s not...”

“It’s not what? _Intense?_ ”

Dean licked his lips.

“It’s unhealthy, Dean. Last year I let it slide...”

“No, you abandoned us again last year. Like usual.” Dean wanted to change the subject. The fear he felt right now, coupled with the ongoing pain of his father’s abandonment—of never feeling good enough to meet his father’s expectations—fell on him right now, like an avalanche of crap. He knew his father would never understand his relationship with Cas. He’d assume the worst. He was _already_ assuming the wrong thing. In John’s short, condemning sentences, Dean felt like he was failing his father’s expectations yet again, and he _hated_ it.

John said, “That’s not fair.”

“What do you call leaving two kids alone, or with Bobby, for months at a time? I mean _all_ our lives, Dad.”

“You’re changing the subject. You know I love you. I just...”

“I know. Killing that demon is the only thing that’s important. Avenging Mom’s death is the only thing that matters to you.”

“I’m not perfect, son. I know that, and I’m sorry. Truly, I am. But this conversation is not about _me_. It’s about you. I like Castiel. I do. He’s a great kid. But I can tell you’re just as...obsessed with this boy, and with his world, as you were last year. It’s eating you alive. You can’t do this, son. It’s killing you. You need to let this boy go.”

Dean gritted, “I’m not going to let Cas go, Dad. And I’m not _obsessed_ with him. We’re friends. He’s got a ton of bad shit going down, and I can’t help him! It frustrates the _hell_ out of me. Five days a year are not enough. We’ve got to end this thing with the Rowleys, once and for all.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Fix it. Do the duty. End the mission. And then leave him behind.”

Dean said nothing.

“Can you do that, Dean? Can you leave this boy behind?”

Dean knew what is father wanted to hear. He heard the unspoken accusation, if he refused to comply.

“I can’t promise that, Dad,” he said finally, softly. “Cas is like family to me now. And I can’t abandon family.” He held his father’s gaze, and John’s features tightened, understanding that Dean was again reminding him of abandoning him and Sam, over and over again during the years, to Bobby or other caregivers so he could chase that demon.  “I care about Cas. And that’s not going to change, Dad. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

“Dean. Are you _saying..._ ”

“ _No,_ Dad! I’m not...it’s not like that! Is it so hard for you to understand caring about someone? To care about someone as much as your own self? Do you?”

John scowled. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Then stop accusing me of things you know damn well aren’t true.”

“I hope they’re not. Haven’t seen you dating many girls lately, Dean. I’d like to see that change.”

Dean wanted to throw something. “Then maybe you’d better stick around this year, instead of running off God only knows where. Maybe then you’ll see what’s really going on.” He strode away and slammed his bedroom door.

He hated his father. And he missed Cas desperately.


	44. Chapter 44

Year 2019

 

Castiel wiped the tears from his face, and left the invisible courtyard gate behind. He trudged up to the well. He felt parched, and bruised in body and spirit. His wrists and ankles burned like fire.

Crisp, cold autumn air, touched with wood smoke, filled his nostrils, and made gooseflesh rise on his forearms. He needed water to heal his body. But he knew from experience that nothing but time would heal the ache in his heart. More tears gathered in a knot in his throat, and he pumped well water and drank the sweet liquid and splashed it over his face, wrists and ankles, yearning for relief from the stinging pain.

He tried not to think about Dean, or how they’d just parted. He felt guilty, and that made things so much worse. Had he pushed Dean, by talking about love? Had he only been thinking about what he wanted and needed, instead of what Dean needed?

Was he selfish, and only able to think about himself? More tears trickled down his face, and Castiel angrily splashed them away with more sweet water. He was lucky to have the water. He was lucky that walking out of that courtyard, three months into the future, hadn’t killed him; hadn’t hit him with dehydration. Because in real time he hadn’t drunk the well water in almost a quarter of a year. He would have died in the real world without water for that long, since he was chained to the well...

Castiel drew a harsh breath. Ana! He’d been gone for three long months. How had she survived? Was she still alive? Terror mobilized him, and he filled a bucket and sprinted down the hill to Delphoi. He pounded hard on the Purcivals’ door, chest heaving, heart pounding. Feeling sick with fear.

Priscilla opened the door. Her smile didn’t look as if she’d recently suffered a terrible loss. “Castiel! You’re back.”

“ _Ana,_ ” he gasped. “The water. Is she...I haven’t been here to pump...”

“She’s fine.” Priscilla put a calming hand on his arm. “Dean and Sam brought enough water to last her for three months. She’s fine. Ana!” she turned and called up the stairs. “You have a visitor.” With a conspiratorial smile, she told Castiel, “She has a surprise for you.”

“Castiel!” Ana pelted down the stairs and ran headlong into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He held the child tightly, overwhelmed with relief, and pressed a kiss into her soft, silken hair.

“Ana,” he murmured. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

She pulled back, eyes sparkling. “Dean and Sam took care of me. You didn’t need to worry, Cas. They’re the best; almost as good as you.”

“Even Sam?” he couldn’t help but tease.

She sighed mightily, but a gleam twinkled in her eyes. “Even Sam.” She grabbed his hand, and paused when she saw the marks on his wrists. Priscilla drew a quick breath, too. “What _happened_ to you?”

“I’m fine. They no longer hurt, thanks to the water.” That wasn’t quite true, but they did feel a lot better, and he didn’t want to worry them.

Priscilla didn’t look like she believed him, but Ana took his words at face value and tugged on his hand. “Come inside and tell us everything. And I’ve got a surprise for you!”

Castiel sat on the comfortable couch, and Priscilla brought him a mug of warm cider while Ana scampered off and returned with a large, bulky brown package, tied up with string. It was wide and flat, with a big lump in the middle. She placed it on his lap.

“This is a late birthday present for you. And it’s for Dean, too. A thank you for rescuing me. I’m hoping you’ll use it to make something for him. I know he’d love it.”

Castiel had not received a birthday present in a while. Not since Dean had bought him the clothes. Carefully, he untied the string while Priscilla looked on with a smile.

The cords fell away, and he folded back the paper to reveal an extra large sketchbook, tied on one edge with twine. In the center Ana had piled pencils, an eraser, large paint pots in twelve brilliant colors, and brushes.

“Do you like it?” Ana asked eagerly. “I know you like to draw, but Mommy didn’t think you had paper. Will this be okay?”

Castiel was speechless. Reverently, he touched the pencils, the paint, the brushes... “You shouldn’t have. It’s too expensive...”

“Daddy did,” Ana said matter-of-factly. “But it was Mommy’s and my idea.”

“Thank you.” Castiel looked up, his heart feeling full. “I’ve never painted before.”

“You’ll do a wonderful job,” Priscilla told him. “I’m glad you like it. Now, let’s talk about the burns on your arms, and the scratches on your face.” The fierce gleam in her eyes reminded him of a mother animal protecting her young. “Did the Rowleys do that to you?”

“Yes.” Castiel explained what had happened, and Priscilla and Ana listened, their mouths open, aghast.

“They should go to jail!” Ana cried out.

“I’ll talk to Harry about it. Perhaps you could speak against them in court, Castiel,” Priscilla suggested.

The idea appealed, but he feared it would only make matters worse. “They would not stay in jail. Afterward, they would just make life miserable for me. Or for you. Or for anyone I care about. And I can’t prove anything. Dean is my only witness, and he’s gone.” Again, a lump filled his throat, but he swallowed it back. “The Rowleys do need to face justice, but I don’t think there is enough evidence to put them in jail, or to keep them in jail.”

“I’ll still tell Harry about it. And I think you should make a statement to the judge, too, Castiel,” Priscilla urged. “It can be taken in private. No one needs to know. But it would be on public record, in case something else happens in the future.”

He nodded, and carefully folded the brown paper back around the gifts and retied the precious bundle. “I should go. I haven’t been home in a while, and I need to check on the animals.”

“I’m so glad you’re back, Castiel!” Ana said, and after another hug, and after he’d thanked them again for their wonderful, thoughtful gift, the Purcivals waved him out the door.  He already itched to take up the brand new pencils and draw. And paint. Finally, here was something to look forward to this year. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as he’d feared.

*****

Castiel’s good spirits lasted until he approached his small home. The door stood ajar, and the horseshoe, which had hung over the door lintel, lay on the tiny porch. The line of salt, which he’d carefully kept in a thick line across his doorstep for the last several years, lay scattered in a fine dust across the wooden step, as if scattered by the wind.

Someone had broken into his home. Fear rose hard and tight in his chest, making it hard to breathe. _Who?_...But when he stepped inside, he knew.

His round stove lay on its side, battered until half of it was concave. The table and chairs lay in pieces, with gouges dug into the remaining bits. The toppled table had evidently jarred his bed, for it had moved, and the horseshoe lay on the floor. His mattress lay slashed, and straw mixed with sliced and torn bits of blanket. His clothes lay strewn around the room; some slashed, others filthy, as if ground into the floor with filthy boots. All of his books, except for his Bible, had disappeared. But a step showed they’d been torn up and thrown on the floor near the fireplace. But not burned. Perhaps because the horseshoe still hung over the fireplace, protecting it.

Rage rose in him, so dark and so violent he barely recognized himself through the roaring in his ears, and in his mind. In his soul.

“ _No!_ ”

He spun around, taking in everything. The torn curtains. His broken dishes. The broken shelves. “ _No!_ ” Castiel wanted to scream like a gutted, bleeding animal.

Hands shaking, he carefully placed his package in a safe corner near the door. He could barely think, beyond wanting to keep that one last, precious thing of his safe from harm. He put his hands on his head, trying to contain his combusting thoughts, to keep them compressed inside his head. His chest heaved like a galloping horse, and he felt dizzy. He sank to a crouch, trying to get a handle on things. Trying to calm himself.

“God _help me,_ ” he whispered.

Footsteps rustled in the dead larkspur outside, and he lunged to his feet, and out onto his front porch step. The sunshine, which had lit the world moments ago, looked darker now, as if sudden clouds obscured the sun.

Ty Rowley grinned at him. His weather beaten face creased with malicious mirth, and his dark eyes looked like black pits of hell.  “Welcome home, boy.”

Castiel trembled. It was all he could do not to launch himself at the man. “You vandalized my house. _Why?_ ”

“Thought it might teach you a lesson.”

Castiel shuddered with rage, and clenched his fists so tight they hurt. “After you kidnapped me? After you hurt me and stole _three months_ of my life?” A raindrop hit his cheek. “After everything I’ve done for you my entire _life?_ ”

Ty’s smile deepened. “That’s right, boy. What are you going to do about it?”

Rage seized Castiel, shuddering through him with power, and with the force of a thunderbolt. Lightning splintered into the ground three yards from Ty, and the old man jumped. Real fear flickered across his face.

“ _Go!_ ” Legs trembling, and unable to think clearly, Castiel strode for Ty. Rage drove him. Electricity seemed to sizzle in his fingertips. “Go. _Now!_ ” He savagely yearned for the power to pound thunderbolts into Ty’s skull.  To obliterate the man from existence.

Lightning struck the ground only a yard from Ty, and the old man’s wispy hair stood on end. Terror mixed with his insane look of glee, making his eyes look maniacal.  “See what you’ve done?” he shouted, stretching his hands to the sky. He laughed, as if he’d lost his mind. “ _This_ is all your doing, Castiel. Don’t you ever forget it.” The old man spun and scampered down the hill.

Rain poured now. Thick clouds roiled overhead, and thunder rumbled, shaking the earth beneath his feet. Lightning struck the forest, the earth, and the Rowleys’ farm, as if they were pincushions, and the lightning bolts the needles.

“ _God help me!_ ” Castiel screamed to the sky. He felt out of control. The stormfelt out of control. 

And then the wind hit his cheek. A dark, malignant note wailed from the storm, and the winds screamed into a frenzy. Within moments, into a gale. Overhead, the sky swirled, twisting the clouds faster and faster.

“No,” Castiel gasped, stepping backward. “ _No!_ ”

The wind shrieked, and the heavy funnel cloud picked up speed, growing wider, darker. It lowered in the sky, as if it was too heavy to stay aloft. It looked like a gigantic mouth yawning wide open, descending, ready to devour Delphoi.

“No!” Castiel screamed again.

The storm fell upon Delphoi. A horrible, deafening bang exploded, and lumber and debris burst from the cloud. Castiel dropped to his knees in horror.

“ _God, no,_ ” he begged. “Stop this!”

He struggled to find peace and calm in his soul. To stop the storm.

He failed. More homes exploded. Screams shrilled through the shrieking winds.

Castiel fell prostrate on the ground and wept.


	45. Chapter 45

When the wind finally stopped ten minutes later, the silence felt unearthly. Rain still softly fell on the earth. They tasted like Castiel’s tears. He lay in the mud, unable to move, consumed by grief. Paralyzed by guilt.

 _He_ had caused this storm. He had caused the tornado. He was responsible for the deaths in Delphoi. For the homes lost. For every bit of destruction.

He rolled onto his back. Great, harsh sobs wracked his body. He hated himself. And he wished, for the first time in his life, that he had never been born. He was a _monster_. A monster worse than any Dean had ever hunted.

 _Dean._ Castiel cried harder. He didn’t deserve Dean. He didn’t deserve anything good in his life, ever again.

Wails and screams drew his attention to the town. He vomited, choking on his own bile, unable to think, or to make his body move. It felt as though claws had ripped his body open, leaving him to bleed. This couldn’t be happening. He hadn’t really done this, had he?

And yet he knew he had.

Still weeping, Castiel finally crawled to his knees and pushed himself to his feet. He must face what he had done. He must try to help those who could still be helped. Although he knew he could never put right what he had done, he had to do something good. Something to try to make things better.

Even though he could _never_ make things better.  Barely able to see through his tears, Castiel stumbled down the hill. Ana. Priscilla and Harry. Were they still alive?

He climbed through rubble, past the outer, flattened buildings of Delphoi, to the center, where people gathered and wept. Miraculously, the very center of town—the eye of the tornado—had been spared the destruction. But at least fifteen outer buildings lay heaped in mangled, splintered piles of wood, and every building in Delphoi had suffered damage. Men pulled bodies out of the rubble. Women screamed, kneeling over motionless, bloody children.

Castiel vomited into the bushes. He _couldn’t_ have done this. _No._

And yet he had.

The Purcivals’ house still stood, although half of the roof had been blown off, and half the windows shattered. He saw the three of them, clustered on their porch, so he knew they were all right. But he didn’t go to them. He didn’t feel like he deserved their attention, or their love, or their care. And something drove him on, down to the river. To Athina.

His steps slowed when he reached the tiny settlement. Two houses lay in grotesque, splinted heaps. James knelt on the ground over a fallen body. Johnny stood over him, and tears coursed down his cheeks.

Castiel’s steps slowed still more. His heart felt sick and heavy with awful dread.

“James,” he said. And then, when the older man raised his tear streaked face, he saw the body James huddled over. “Hazel!”  Castiel collapsed to his knees and sobs choked his throat. He had killed _Hazel._

This was the last straw. He crumpled in on himself, sobbing hysterically.

Arms closed around him. “Son,” James said. “What’s wrong, Castiel?”

“ _I did it,_ ” he keened on a gasp. “I did it. The storm...I started the storm! _It’s all my fault._ ” He wept inconsolably, face buried in his arms, in his knees.

“Come now.” A woman’s gentle voice spoke in his ear. “Johnny. Get some hot water and tea.” Someone draped a blanket around his shaking shoulders, and James placed his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, holding it there, sure and steady, until the tears finally ran dry and his throat ached like raw sandpaper.

“Here.” Someone...a woman named Pamela...pressed a hot drink into his hand. “Drink up, now. It will make you feel better.”

Castiel didn’t want to drink. He didn’t think he would ever feel better again. He didn’t _want_ to feel better. He didn’t deserve it.

“Drink, son,” James said firmly. “That’s an order, now.”

Castiel pressed the mug to his lips. The hot water stung his lips and seared his tongue. An unfamiliar taste cooled his taste buds.

“Drink more,” urged Pamela.

Castiel did, and he gradually felt himself relaxing. He felt sleepy.

“That’s right,” James murmured, when Castiel’s empty cup drooped from his fingers. “Lie down. Take a rest. We’ll wrap you up in this warm blanket.”

Castiel wanted nothing more than to sleep. To escape to oblivion. To forget what he had done.

*****

When Castiel awoke, it was dark, and a fire flickered in the gloom. James stirred a pot with a long-handled spoon. Memories flooded back, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He swallowed a sob. His throat still ached.

“He’s awake, James,” someone said, and James handed the spoon to Johnny, and came to sit beside Castiel.

Castiel rolled into a sitting position and hunched over his knees. The blanket fell from his shoulders, exposing his T-shirted torso to the cold night air. He made no attempt to pull it back up, or to protect himself. He deserved to suffer. He _wanted_ to suffer for what he had done. If only that could make things better. But it couldn’t.

“Tell me everything,” James said quietly, and fixed the blanket around Castiel’s shoulders again.

And so he did, in fits and starts. He told the tale—from protecting the laurel trees, to being kidnapped, to seeing Dean. Tears slid down his cheeks. And then he told about his vandalized home. Ty’s taunts. The storm. “Ty was right. I _did_ do this. And I can’t ever forget,” he wept. “Hazel is dead, and it’s because of me. Other people have died, and it’s _all my fault._ ”

“ _No._ ” James snapped.

“But I did. I started the storm. I _know_ I did.”

“Maybe so.” James didn’t seem surprised by that idea at all, which surprised Castiel. It wasn’t normal for people to create storms. He was an unnatural _freak_. A monster, just like the inhuman things Dean hunted. “But Castiel, that doesn’t mean you caused the tornado.”

He didn’t understand. “I started the storm, James. That means I caused the tornado, too.”

“Do you remember last year, when you told me that some storms feel different to you now? Malicious. That they start off as normal storms, and then turn into something else entirely?”

“Yes. My anger started them. And then...”

“No, Castiel. Listen. I believe evil is at work here. The Rowleys kidnapped and abused you. Ty vandalized your home. He deliberately taunted you. I think it was a deliberate plan hurt you; to make you desperately unhappy. To make it easier for a few taunts to cause you to explode into anger. I’m betting Ty knew you could start a storm. All of those things are true, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but I started...”

“And what if Ty _changed_ the storm? What if he needed you to _start_ the storm, so he could change it into a monster that killed people?”

“But how could he? And why?”

“Who knows why? Those Rowleys are evil. We all know it. I’ll bet they practice sorcery, and I’d stake my life they’re the ones making the storms vicious. And mark my words, it’s only for evil. To torture you, perhaps. But more likely as a means to gain their true goal.”

“Forcing the Sphere?”

“Like I said, mark my words. Watch how they behave after this. I’d bet every drachma I own that the Rowleys are behind this storm. Not you. You have the kindest heart of anyone I know, Castiel. You would never harm a fly, let alone a human being—much less destroy a whole town! It’s just not in your heart.”

“I was so angry. I wanted the lightning bolts to strike Ty _dead_ , James.” Castiel swallowed hard. Softly, he said, “I think evil lives in me, too.”

“It lives in all of us. But we choose our path.”

Castiel wanted to believe James’ words, more than anything.  “But I started the storm.”

“Maybe you did. But you didn’t choose for it to end in a tornado. It’s not your fault, Castiel. But going forward, you’ll need to keep a lid on your temper. Don’t let the Rowleys provoke you again. Be strong. Win this battle. You must. For all our sakes.”

“I will.” Oh, he would. “I promise, I will.”

“Good.” James patted him on the back. “Take my words to heart, son. Don’t lay a heap of guilt on your shoulders that you’re not meant to bear.”

Castiel wished he knew what had really happened. He wanted to believe James’ words. And they did make sense. The Rowleys _had_ deliberately provoked him. From Ty’s own taunting words, he clearly knew Cas could start storms. And Castiel wouldn’t put it past either of the Rowleys to use a storm, if they could, to hurt others.

But had they? Or was he to blame for the tornado?

“It’ll kill you, if you keep thinking like that, boy,” James shook his head. “You’re a good lad. Believe in yourself. Stop doubting yourself. It’s what the Rowleys want, that’s clear. Instead, take this opportunity to do good. Help others. And watch the Rowleys. They must be getting desperate, to create a storm of this magnitude. I think you dealt a blow to their plans, Castiel, by protecting the laurel trees, and allowing Dean to return here each year. They know Dean is a danger to them, and so are you. They’re going to take every opportunity from now on to hurt you, to stop you from interfering in their plan. They must think their time is short. That makes them even more dangerous.”

“Why would their time be short?”

“I don’t know. That’s for you to figure out.”

“Maybe they think I’ll find a way to meet my mother soon,” Castiel muttered. And then he had to tell James about Ana’s theory regarding their possible mutual mother.

James nodded. “Makes sense. The Rowleys must know they can’t keep you locked on their farm forever. And with Dean here, you two are an unstoppable force. That’s why they’re trying so desperately to keep you apart. Clearly, they’ll do anything to achieve their goal, which, in my best guess is to unite the Sphere. Then they can walk between worlds. To gain that goal, they probably need to keep you on their farm for as long as possible.”

Castiel shivered, and hitched the blanket up higher on his shoulders. “Dean thinks they want to make every universe as miserable as they are. Or maybe they want to release all of the evil monsters from Hades.”

“They’ll have to get by Cerberus to do it.”

“Is your memory still getting better?”

“Slow, but sure. I haven’t told anyone, but sometimes I think I’m not from...here. That I was placed here, from somewhere else. But I don’t know how, or why.” He paused. “James isn’t my real name, you know. Hazel named me, when I showed up here a few years back. Sometimes I get a flash... I think it’s Ch...something.”

“I’m sorry about Hazel.” Castiel’s gaze rested on the blanket covered lump near the river. Tears again filled his eyes. “I’m so _sorry_ about Hazel.”

James wiped his own moist eyes. “Hazel is in a better place now. I believe that with all of my heart. Heaven has to be better than this, right?”

Castiel nodded, and reluctantly pulled the blanket from his shoulders. “I want to go help out in the village. Tomorrow, I’ll help them start to rebuild.”

“Good.” James smiled. “We’ll hold Hazel’s funeral tomorrow afternoon. I hope you can come.”

“I’ll be here.”

Castiel bade goodbye to his friends, and returned to the village, which was quieter now. People still quietly wept, though, as he carried in healing buckets of water for the injured and dying. He finally stumbled home near dawn, reapplied the salt line, and fell into a deep sleep, with his face smushed into the prickly straw of his slashed mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The eye of a tornado:  
> http://science.howstuffworks.com/nature/natural-disasters/eye-of-tornado1.htm


	46. Chapter 46

The next few weeks felt surreal to Castiel. He still blamed himself, in large part, for the storm, but James’ theory made more and more sense as time went by. Mostly because of Echna’s strange behavior.

_She collected tears in bottles._

First, from the hopeless. And later, when she benevolently brought free buckets of water to the same hopeless families, she collected their tears of hope and joy.

Ana was the one who told Castiel about it, and he could barely believe it. He wondered what it meant, but was sure it meant nothing good.

Echna didn’t burn the bitter, foul smoke this year, either, which stirred unease in him, too. Business boomed at the shop, as more out-of-town travelers than ever bought over-priced water. The Rowleys were making a ton of money. Again, he wondered what they were doing with the gold.

Castiel used all of his earnings that winter to help repair the town. He also used up the gold in the chest beneath his floorboard, which the Rowleys thankfully had not discovered. He kept no money for himself, excerpt for enough to buy food to eat, and an extra blanket to spread over his mended straw mattress. He cleaned up his home as best he could, repaired what he could, and only after the town was rebuilt did he spend the money to buy a new stove, and later, a new mattress. A feather one.

The months slid by into February, and then March. The town had recovered. Seventeen people had died, and were mourned. Castiel deeply mourned their loss. A piece of his soul had died with them, back in September. And he would never forget. And he still felt guilty. Although he now didn’t believe he was completely responsible for the destruction, he was responsible for part of it, and he would never be the same, as a result. Much as the town regarded him as a hero for helping to rebuild Delphoi, he could not accept their accolades. He refused to accept an award, and refused to be honored in any fashion.

Ty and Echna kept their distance from Castiel. If they crossed paths, he kept it cordial, and physically remained at a safe distance. Ty tried to taunt him about the storm and the lost lives, but Castiel ignored him.

Things gradually got better. In April, Priscilla told him, during one of his Sunday visits, that there would be a dance. “It’ll be a celebration. Spring is a time for new beginnings, we need to hope again. It’ll be next Saturday, Castiel. Will you come?”

Harry winked. “Count on lots of pretty girls.”

Ana rolled her eyes. “Castiel isn’t interested in pretty girls.”

Castiel’s face warmed, and he felt uncomfortable, as he wasn’t sure what Ana was thinking. He spoke quickly, before Harry could ask questions. “I would like to attend the dance. Thank you for inviting me.” Dean would approve. Of this, he knew. And it would probably relieve Dean to know that he was finally trying to meet a girl. To perhaps “get a girlfriend.” It seemed like a good plan. Then both Dean and he would know that the “love” between them was nothing more than a strong bond. Not gay, as Dean clearly feared. And Castiel didn’t want that, either. He didn’t want anything Dean didn’t want.

The dance arrived, and Castiel wore his best blue shirt, and cleanest jeans, and entered the newly remodeled town hall. Fiddlers stood on the stage already, bows flying. People whirled around the room, and across the hall, Priscilla and Harry waved. Ana danced with a group of her young friends, but as soon as she saw Castiel, she hurried over and pulled him into the throng.

He awkwardly tried to follow the fast, sleek moves of the other dancers, but Ana giggled and told him to loosen up. “You’ll get the hang of it. Don’t worry.” And then, near the end of the song, she nodded toward the wall. “Betty Sue’s got her eye on you. So do all the girls. You’re the hero, Cas. And you’re rich. Be careful, because they all want you. Mark my words.” She skipped away to her friends again.

Now Castiel felt even more nervous. He felt like a mouse circled by lionesses. Betty Sue, the girl Ana had indicated, rose to her feet and sashayed over in her blue dress, dark hair twisted and coiled upon her head. Her blue eyes demurely swept down when she reached Castiel. White teeth peeked between her red painted lips. “Would you like to dance?”

Castiel wondered if it was normal for a girl to ask a man to dance. But he took her arm and did his best to stumble through the next dance. She gushed over him, telling him what a good dancer he was. Castiel knew she wasn’t being truthful. He did not like lies.  Her fingers dug into his arm, clinging to him like a leech, and he just wanted to escape.

Another girl, a blond one, took her place. Sally. He tried to remember each girl’s name as the night whirled by. Dean would be proud of all the pretty girls he danced with. Castiel didn’t mind the dancing part; at least not once he’d managed to catch onto a few of the steps, and move with more grace. But he didn’t particularly like the way some of the girls clung to him, or how their fingers lingered on his arm. And one particularly bold young lady ran her fingers down his back. He’d jumped, and nearly jerked away, unable to help the revulsion fluttering in his gut.

Those girls wanted something from him. Something, he gradually realized as the evening wore on, he did not want to give to them. They wanted a special piece of him that only belonged to one person—the one person to whom he’d give his whole heart and soul...and his body. And none of those girls was that person.

Many of the girls, however, were very nice, and Castiel thought he would like to become friends with them. But even they clearly wanted more than friendship, and he did not. Awkwardly, he held them at arm’s length, not sure how to convey his desire to be only friends. Finally, it seemed impossible, and so he gave up on the idea.

When he and the Purcivals finally left the warm dance hall, Castiel felt relieved. Perspiration dripped down his back, and it was nice to walk in the cool night air. It was also nice to finally be freed of the clutching hands and longing, amorous looks of the giggling girls. Castiel wondered what Dean liked so much about them. They seemed so...demanding.

Discouraged, he shoved his hands in his pockets. At least he’d tried. And he’d try again, if he must.

Priscilla smiled. “So, Castiel, did you meet anyone special?”

“Special?” Unease fisted in his chest, because he felt pretty certain his reaction to the girls wasn’t what it quite what it should be.

“You know. Someone you’d like to see again?”

Harry wiggled his eyebrows. “You know. Kiss? Do a little private dance?”

Castiel flushed, and was glad the darkness hid it.

“Daddy!” Ana scolded.

Castiel decided to be honest. “No. But several were very nice.”

“Nice? Those were a bunch of _beautiful_ young...” A quelling glance from Priscilla made Harry stutter. “What I mean to say is, didn’t one of them take your fancy?”

Uncomfortably, Castiel said, “No. But I don’t know them very well. Perhaps I just need to become better acquainted with them.”

They entered the Purcivals’ home, where they’d already planned to eat dessert and enjoy a few quiet moments together. To be honest, Castiel had looked forward to this part of the evening far more than the dance.

“I’ll dish up the pie,” Harry offered.

Priscilla patted the couch beside her. A frown pulled at her brow, and when Castiel sat down, she murmured, “If no woman took your fancy... Did a man?”

Castiel flushed. His face felt hot. But the thought of a man’s hands all over him appealed no more than the girls doing the same. “No. That does not appeal to me.”

“I see.” Priscilla turned her head when Ana tapped on her shoulder. The little girl whispered something in her ear.

Castiel couldn’t hear it, but it ended with Ana’s barely audible, “...but I don’t think he knows it yet.”

Priscilla glanced back at Castiel, and her eyes looked soft now with compassion. “So it’s like that, then.”

Castiel blinked in confusion, but Harry arrived with four plates piled high with pecan pie.

“Dig in, guys, or it’s all going to me.”

After an enjoyable hour with his adopted family, Castiel headed home. He couldn’t stop thinking about the evening, and what a failure he’d felt with the girls, however. While he hadn’t particularly wanted to dance with them, most were very nice.

But being with a girl meant more than thinking she was nice, or that he might like to be friends with her. Clearly. For Harry had implied that Castiel should want to kiss a girl. Perhaps he expected that Castiel should want some girl in his bed, all over him, and hugging and kissing and touching him. Castiel couldn’t help it. He shivered with revulsion at the thought of a stranger touching him like that. Fearfully, he touched the thought. Didn’t he like girls...in that way?

But replacing the girl in his bed with the thought if a man didn’t appeal, either. Castiel was happy to sleep alone. Well, except for Dean, of course. Dean was the only person he _wanted_ in his bed. And that wasn’t for sex. He just wanted to be close to his friend. It was the only thing he did want. He wanted Dean back in his life. He missed him so much.

It had been a hard year.

Castiel put a hand to his suddenly aching eyes. He’d tried his best this year to be the best man he could be, and to do all the right things, and he’d tried not to think about Dean too much. It had been so hard. He still worried that he’d pushed Dean too hard last year. He hoped he hadn’t irrevocably damaged their relationship. This year, he swore to himself, he wouldn’t be so needy. He’d be there for Dean. He’d be the friend Dean needed. And that would be enough.

Castiel swallowed back the ache in his throat, and thought about June, only two months away. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to see Dean. He yearned to see Dean. His whole soul ached for Dean, and he wondered in despair if it would ever stop.


	47. Chapter 47

Dean spent the year hunting with his father. Sammy came along for the ride on quite a few hunts. Sometimes John pushed him too far, and then Dean had stepped in to put a stop to it. To protect his brother.

Dean felt no guilt about ganking the monsters this year, and he worried about that. He also worried a little that he fantasized about different ways he could kill the Rowleys. ...After catching them first in the act of evil or demonic behavior, of course. Even after what he’d learned from studying Greek mythology this year, he couldn’t kill people in cold blood.

Or maybe he could, when it came to the Rowleys. When he thought about them hurting Cas.

His hand tightened on the steering wheel, and by habit, Dean forced his mind away from Cas, as he’d struggled to do all year long.

He had dated more girls this year. Blond ones, mostly, after he realized he kept seeking out girls with dark hair and blue eyes. Blue eyes that were not the right color. Girls that were not Cas. Then he wondered if his father was right to worry about him, and he threw himself into flirting and dating with more fervor than ever before. His father’s fears settled down; he saw it in John’s approving look every time Dean came home late.

John didn’t know that Dean didn’t actually sleep with any of the girls, to their pouting disappointment. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, and he rationalized it by telling himself he didn’t know them well enough. And that he would soon move on to another town. He didn’t want the emotional involvement, he told himself. And, well, the physical side he could take care of himself.

No need for his father to know that, either.

Dean researched the monsters that he and Cas had killed, too. Orthros, the Sphinx, and Hydra. They all had one thing in common. Well, _two_ things in common, he discovered. And when he did more research, excitement lit his blood. Finally, he was getting somewhere. He couldn’t wait to tell Cas.

Now he glanced at the odometer as the warm June breeze slid into the Impala. Only another three hundred miles to go. He smiled at Sammy, riding beside him, and cranked up the AC/DC. His head jerked in rhythm to the music, and he grinned in his rear view mirror, eyeing his father, who followed in the old Ford.

Today was June 19th. Tomorrow, he’d see Cas. His heart lifted with the music, and his fists pounded on the wheel, feeling a little high on pure, adrenaline spiked joy. Soon, he’d arrive home. _Home._ He realized for the first time that the cabin felt like home. Cas felt like home. For a man like himself. who had no steady home except for his car, the feeling was wonderful. Overwhelming. Dean belted out the next line of the song, and Sam groaned.

“Can it, jerk. You’re interrupting my beauty sleep.”

But Dean just smirked and sang louder.


	48. Chapter 48

When Dean drove his baby up the long gravel drive, a figure drew his eye. Up on the cabin’s porch, someone sat in one of the rockers, waiting for them. For _him_.

It felt like his heart expanded three times its size. Dean wanted to vault up those stairs and hug the stuffing out of him. But his father and brother would be watching, so he wouldn’t. Instead, hand shaking a little, he set the parking brake.

He hadn’t expected to see Cas today. It wasn’t even their birthday yet. The trees must have bloomed early this year.

On the porch, Castiel rose to his feet. Dean slowly climbed out of the car, his heart beating in hard, agitated jerks. Cas looked tall; all lean, broad shoulders, and he wore jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. He shook hands with Sam, who first dashed up the steps, all long, gangly limbs, and Cas next shook hands with John.

Cas’s gaze locked with Dean’s as he slowly climbed the steps. Dean’s heart still urged him to stride over and hug him hard, but Cas extended his hand in a polite shake, stopping the thought dead in its tracks.

“Dean.” His voice was quiet, and his handshake firm and strong. “It is good to see you.” His demeanor and the handshake gave off the distinct vibe he wanted to keep Dean at arm’s length.

It confused him. It hurt, too. “Cas,” he said gruffly, trying to read his friend’s gaze, but failing.

“We brought sandwiches for dinner. Plenty for you, too, Castiel,” John called from inside.

“Yeah, come on!” Sam agreed. “Dean ordered an extra long meatball sub. You can share his.”

Cas turned to comply, but Dean gripped his shoulder and spun him back. Castiel’s eyes flew open wider, and Dean surprised a soft, bewildered in expression in them.

“Cas,” he muttered. “ _What_ is going on?”

“Nothing is going on, Dean.” But Castiel glanced down at Dean’s hand, as if he didn’t want Dean touching him. Taken aback, he loosened his fingers, and dropped his hand to his side. Something was wrong. And he didn’t like it. “Dean, is it all right with you if I share your sub?”

“You don’t even have to _ask_.” Roughly, he said, “What’s wrong?” Something dark and sad slid through Castiel’s eyes. It worried him. A lot. Especially paired up with Cas’s strange behavior. More gently, he urged, “Tell me, Cas.”

“It’s been a hard year, Dean.” His voice sounded as low and rough as gravel. The shadowed porch made his eyes look as dark as midnight, and effectively hid his thoughts. Dean held his gaze, though, until something finally flickered in his friend’s. A tiny break in the wall he was clearly trying to erect between them. Well, Dean would break it down with his bare hands, if he needed to.

“Let’s get some food. We’ll talk later,” Dean said.

Castiel nodded, and joined the Winchesters at the table for the quick, impromptu dinner. Sam was in one of his goofy moods, and John laughed easily. Neither seemed to notice that while Dean wolfed down his food, he said little, and his gaze kept returning to Cas. He wondered what was wrong with his friend.

Castiel, on the other hand, joined the conversation with his dad and brother, and even made a joke or two. Sam mentioned that he’d gone on his first real date this year.

“She was a senior in high school,” he boasted, sucking air at the bottom of his soda cup. “Not bad for a sophomore.”

“Not bad for a fifteen year old geek,” Dean put in. “But you didn’t even get to first base.”

Sam pulled his bitch face. “Some of us respect women. It’s not all about getting into their pants, Dean. Not many people can match your promiscuous behavior this year.”

Dean’s face heated, and he felt Cas’s gaze bore into him, which felt even worse. “I didn’t...” he fumbled. “I was a gentleman.”

Sam spurted with laughter. “Right! That’s why you always came home past midnight, with lipstick smeared all over your face.”

Cas swallowed, and looked down abruptly. “I went to a dance,” he blurted.


	49. Chapter 49

Castiel felt a sick weight fill his chest the instant the words left his mouth. He didn’t like having all the attention on him, but he didn’t want to hear any more about Dean’s exploits, either. Hearing about Dean’s promiscuity hurt something, deep of inside him. And yet, he told himself it was good. Dean was getting out there, and chasing girls like a normal man. And Castiel had to make Dean understand that he was trying to do the same thing.

“You did _what?_ ” Dean’s gaze zeroed in on Castiel with the intensity of a laser.

Castiel struggled to ignore him, and instead spoke earnestly to John and Sam. “There are a number of pretty girls in Delphoi. I think I danced with all of them.”

“Good job!” Sam gave him a high five, which Cas awkwardly returned, but a smile bloomed on his face. He felt like he’d finally done something right, even though a strange expression currently pulled at Dean’s features.

“Did you find a special girl?” John asked.

“There were several nice ones. But I haven’t had the opportunity to get to know them better.”

Dean’s gaze continued to bore into him. A twist to his mouth indicated he found holes in his story. “Really.” His tone sounded neutral.

Castiel stiffened his spine. “Yes, really, Dean.” He needed to make Dean accept his words. Wasn’t this whole exercise to prove to Dean that he no longer needed to worry about Cas pushing him in unwelcome directions? Wasn’t it to set his mind at ease?

Approval gleamed in John’s smile, at least. “Atta boy, Cas. Soon you’ll be a heartbreaker like Dean, here. Well, actually, I see you as more of a one person kinda guy. But that’s even better.”

Castiel’s heart knotted up in his chest, and his gaze shuttered when he finally looked at his friend. He couldn’t keep locked up any longer the words that battled to get out. Quietly, he said, “Are you a heartbreaker, Dean?”

Dean’s small laugh sounded uncomfortable. “No. Chicks go into it knowing what to expect. They know I won’t be around for long.”

Castiel looked down and fingered his sandwich. He didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. “The food is delicious, Mr. Winchester. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” John’s gaze flickered between Cas and Dean, who now fidgeted. “And for the last time, call me John.”

Castiel smiled a little, but didn’t promise. He silently fell to his sandwich.

After dinner, Castiel politely thanked John for the meal. Dean stood up with him when he bid the Winchesters good night. Although he didn’t want to leave Dean so soon, something in Cas’s gut urged him to go home tonight. Making matters worse, his meeting with Dean this evening hadn’t gone quite how he had expected, or hoped it would, and that made him feel sick. He just wanted to go home.

“Stay here tonight, Castiel,” John offered. “It’ll be dark soon. And we have an extra bed.”

Castiel glanced at Dean. “Thank you, Mr. W... John. But I need to go home. I’ll return tomorrow, though. If I can.”

The Winchesters bid him goodnight, but Castiel heard Dean’s bootsteps following him onto the porch steps. As soon as the screen door slammed shut, Dean gripped Castiel’s arm, stopping him.

“ _What_ is with the stick up your ass, man?”

“I do not have a stick up my ass, Dean.” He wrenched his arm free, and strode down the steps.

“You’re giving a damn good imitation of it.”

“If I’m displeasing you, then go find someone who will give you a better time.” The words felt like acid on his tongue. Worse, they conveyed jealousy, and he wished he could swallow them back.

To his surprise, Dean gripped his elbow and directed him—with frustration, if his rough manhandling was any indication—to the gigantic log the cabin owners had left behind for firewood this year. “Sit down,” he said gruffly.

Castiel scowled, but complied, and Dean sat beside him.

“Screw this, Cas. Tell me the truth, right now. What’s bugging you?”

Castiel rubbed his palms on his jeans. This evening wasn’t going the way he’d wanted it to. Not at all. He licked his lips, and finally found his voice. Dean was talking about the walls he’d thrown up between them. But they were for Dean’s own good.

“I thought this would be better,” he said stiffly.

“Better? _No_ , this is not better. I’ve looked forward to seeing you all year, and you greet me with a handshake and a cold shoulder. It sucks, Cas. Now tell me what’s going on.”

He looked down. “Last year, I felt like I forced things...down a path you didn’t want. I won’t do that, ever again.”

“You _didn’t._ ” Dean sounded incredulous. “I told you that. Pushing me to face a little emotional honesty won’t kill me.”

Castiel’s hands flexed together and he glanced up, feeling a bit of hope. “Then you still feel the same way?”

“Yes, Cas. I still feel the same way. Do _you?_ ”

“Yes. Of _course_ I do.” Castiel swallowed and looked down again. “But I know we don’t see each other much each year. You can never be here for long...”

“You’re not comparing yourself to those _chicks_ I hook up with, are you?”

Castiel flushed. “No.”

“It’s not like that between us.”

His face flushed even warmer, and he looked away. “I know.”

“You know I hate chick flick moments, but let’s get this straight right now. What I feel for you is different than what I’ve felt for anyone else, ever. In my whole life. No one can replace you, Cas.”

Castiel licked his lips. “I feel the same way.”

“Then stop trying to push me away. I can’t handle it, and I won’t put up with it.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“No need to apologize,” he said gruffly. “Now that we’ve got that straightened out...” His words faltered when he saw Castiel’s smile.

Dean’s heartfelt words and intensity had finally broken through the self-protective barrier Castiel had tried to build around his heart. If his grin reflected the state of his soul, then joy beamed from his smile.

Dean mock-grumbled, “You look like the damn sun, Cas.” But he grinned, seeming to enjoy every second of Cas’s brilliant smile, as if drinking it in like pure sunshine.

They together sat in silence, enjoying the peace between them, and the beauty of the last, fading rays of sunlight that slid through the tree tops. Unfortunately, Castiel’s mind soon returned to his own world, and the past year, which still weighed heavily upon his heart.

“That’s not it, is it?” Dean watched him now, his gaze gentle, as if he understood Castiel completely. “Something else is bugging you. Talk to me.”

Castiel didn’t want to tell Dean the truth about himself. But his friend deserved to know. And then maybe Dean would finally want to leave him, when Dean finally saw Cas as he truly was. A freak. A monster.

Although he didn’t like it, he’d come to the conclusion a while back that Dean was better off without him. Just knowing Cas put him in danger. The Rowleys could kill Dean. And for what? Trying to help Castiel? No. Maybe this would convince his friend to leave, and to never come back. To save himself, while he still could.

His heart ached. But he girded up the courage to do what he must. For his friend’s sake. “You know the monsters you kill? The creepy asses? _I_ am one.”

Dean pealed with laughter. He choked and sputtered for a few seconds, trying to get control of himself. “Yeah, right. And you _sure_ as hell don’t have a creepy ass, Cas.” Then he flushed, and looked away for a second. He cleared his throat. “You know what I mean.”

“You should leave now, Dean. And never come back.”

“Okay. Whoa. Hold on there. What are you talking about now?” His eyes squinted, looking intense and dark.

“You should want to _kill_ me, Dean. Not save me. Escape while you can! Leave me to my fate.”

“Hold on. You said you’re a monster? Why did you say that?”

Castiel stood. He had to get away from Dean, or he wouldn’t be able to think clearly, or put together the words he needed to find to push Dean away for good. To keep him safe. His heart hurt, and emotions whirled in him, blinding him, putting cotton in his mouth.

“It’s raining.” Dean put out his hand and looked skyward, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Could have sworn it was all blue sky a second ago.”

Now he knew what to say.

Castiel swallowed hard. “That’s me, Dean. See the clouds gathering? _I’m_ doing that.”

Dean’s gaze fell on him. “You’re making the storm.”

“Aren’t you surprised?”

“Not really. I’ve noticed that your moods have—let’s say _coincided_ —with rainstorms before. I have to admit I didn’t put two and two together until now, but it makes sense. So...it’s cloudy, and it’s raining. Does that mean you’re crying on the inside, too, Cas?”

His gentle tone was nearly Castiel’s undoing. He turned away, fighting for strength. He _must_ let Dean go.

“No, you don’t, Cas.” Dean stood behind him now.

“What?”

“You just said you need to let me go.”

Castiel drew a small, helpless breath, and gazed up to heaven. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud. But it’s true...”

“Finish your story. Tell me how you’re a monster,” Dean said patiently.

“Fine. I cause storms. Sometimes, when I’m really angry, they whip up into something malignant. Violent. This last year I caused a terrible storm. My anger was...out of control. I couldn’t control the storm. It turned into a tornado and wiped out a quarter of Delphoi. Seventeen people died, including Hazel.”

Castiel didn’t want to look at Dean, but he did anyway. His friend looked shocked. As well he might.

“I don’t believe it,” he said finally.

Castiel gritted his teeth. “ _Dean._ Listen to me. Leave. Save yourself! I am not worth saving, and I am just going to get you killed.”

“No.”

“ _Yes!_ ”

“Shouting won’t change my mind. I’m one stubborn son of a bitch. And you’re not a monster, either. I can prove it.”

Castiel glared at him. “I’m trying to protect you. Listen to me. _Go!_ ”

“I won’t leave you, Cas. Not ever. So if you want me out of your life, you’ll have to kill me yourself.”

Castiel heaved frustrated breaths. “Dean!”

“Cas.” Dean offered his customary, cheeky grin. “Might as well chill your jets and tell me everything. ’Cause I’m not going anywhere.”

Castiel sat down on the log, and buried his head in his hands in frustration. “Dean.”

“Cas.” Castiel heard the smile in his voice. “We’ll sit here all night, if you want. But I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers.”

“ _Rrrr._ ” Castiel did feel frustrated, but he also, perhaps pathetically, felt relieved. He didn’t want to lose Dean. His soul just might shrivel up and die if he lost Dean.

“I’m waiting.”

So Castiel told him the entire story, including James’ take on the tornado. It took a long time. And when he finished, Dean was smiling. Castiel frowned at his friend’s inappropriate response. “People are dead, Dean. And I am partially, if not completely, responsible for it.”

“Ty did it.”

“What?”

“I did some major research this year, Cas. And I found out some _pretty_ interesting things.” Dean’s cocky grin leant him a bit of hope.

“What did you discover?”

“Remember our old friends Orthros, the Sphinx and Hydra?” Castiel nodded. “Well, guess the common link between all three.”

“They’re all creatures from Greek mythology?”

“They all have the same _parents_. Typhoeus and Echidna.”

Castiel blinked in complete shock. “Ty and Echna?”

“That’s my guess. But they both should be dead. Bound to Hades. Not sure how they got out, except one of their children is Cerberus. Remember, he guards the gate to the underworld.”

“So Ty and Echna are monsters from Greek mythology, too?”

“Yep. And that’s not the best part. I know the names of their other children. And how to kill them. And I know why that storm blew up in your face, Cas. Typhoeus was known as a monster storm demon. The father of hurricanes. He also fathered the harpies, which were storm winds.”

Castiel remembered when the wind had infected the storm. Then the malignancy had grown to mammoth proportions, whipping the storm he’d made into a ferocious tornado. “Ty is the father of storm winds?”

“Yeah. And he’s known as the ‘Father of All Monsters,’ and Echidna is known as the ‘Mother of All Monsters.’ And they’ve both been sitting pretty on your doorstep all these years. They’re up to some serious shit, and now it’s all starting to make sense.”

Castiel’s shoulders crumpled with relief. “So the wind that caused the tornado, and the blizzard several years ago, too—you think Ty infected those storms? Neither are my fault?”

“Right, Cas. We know who the true monsters are. Now we just need to kill them.” Dean grinned. “I even know how to do it.”

This all seemed just a little too easy to Castiel. “How?”

“We’ll talk about that later. It’s getting dark. Let me get my backpack. I’m going home with you tonight.”

“You’re not protected by a hagstone. You should stay here, where it’s safe.”

Dean lifted a chain from his neck, revealing a silver horseshoe. “I couldn’t find another sardonyx hagstone. But I’m betting this will give me enough protection.”

Castiel wasn’t sure of that at all. “Dean...” But Dean already strode for the Impala, where he dug around in the trunk, and then slung a black backpack over his shoulder. He ran up the porch stairs, shouted that he’d be back tomorrow, and headed for the woods.

Castiel reluctantly followed. “Dean. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Dean!” John shouted from the porch. “I expect you back here for dinner tomorrow night. Remember, it’s your birthday.”

He nodded, and kept heading into the woods. “I have a lot to tell you, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typhoeus and Echidna:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Typhon


	50. Chapter 50

On the way to Cas’s shack, Dean told Cas about Ty and Echna’s three other children. It felt good for Dean to finally be able to give answers to his troubled friend.

Dusk closed like a soft dark blanket about them as they traveled, and he told Cas everything he knew. One of the pair’s children was called Chimera. She was a fire breathing monster with the heads of a lion and goat, and the tail of a serpent. She brought bad omens and destruction wherever she went. The best way to kill her was to jam lead down her throat. Her own fiery breath would melt it, and that would suffocate and kill her. Another was the Nemean Lion. He would need to be strangled, because his hide could not be pierced.

“And then there’s Ladon, a dragon who guards a tree that grows immortality-giving golden apples,” Dean said. “An arrow will kill him. And Cerberus, who guards Hades. We don’t want to kill Cerberus, though, even if we could find him. He needs to keep the dead in Hell, where they belong.”

“Do you think the Rowleys will order their remaining children to attack us?” Cas asked.

“Probably. Which is why we need to gank Ty and Echna first.”

“I know they’re evil. But it still seems wrong to kill them in cold blood.”

“They’re _monsters_ , Cas. They’ve almost killed you. They tried to kill me. And who knows who they’ll go after next. And let’s not forget that weird Sphere crap.”

Just before entering the shack, Dean stopped Cas with a touch to his arm. “We have to stop them. You know that, right? Otherwise, everyone you care about could be in danger. They _are_ in danger, right now. That includes Ana, the Purcivals, James, all of Athina...”

“I understand, Dean.” But Cas’s troubled frown said the idea was difficult for him to accept. He closed the door after Dean, and lit a lamp on the table. It brought the room to soft, shadowed light. It felt intimate to be in the small space with Castiel, but Dean set his pack on a chair, trying to ignore it.

“Cas, the problem is your heart is too kind. You want to think the best of people. Some people just don’t have a best. And Greek monsters...the _father_ and _mother_ of all monsters...they sure as hell don’t have a good side.”

“So how do we kill them?” he said quietly.

“Apollo shot Echidna, or Python, as she’s also called, with an arrow. Zeus killed Typhoeus with a lightning bolt. I’m guessing that’s were you’ll come in.”

“Apollo killed Echidna?” Cas’s slight frown said he seemed to be remembering something that Dean wasn’t.

“Yeah. She was a dragon, and guarded a spring in Delphi. The Castalian spring, which is where people came to consult the Delphic oracle.”

Dean watched as Cas pulled a dark blue blanket off of a chest in the corner and laid it neatly on the floor.

“She guarded a spring? Echna is guarding my well. She won’t let my mother come to me.”

“Castalian and Castiel sound pretty similar. Wonder if there’s a connection there?”

“Maybe.” Cas was quiet as he looked around the room, maybe checking to see if everything was ready for the night. “Thank you for doing the research, Dean. I think it’ll take some time for me to absorb it all. The bed is yours, by the way.” He turned his back and shucked off his dark blue T-shirt.

Dean’s mouth went dry, and he jammed his hands in his pockets. Finally, right now, it all came rushing back. The confusing, complicated feelings he’d tried his damnedest to forget this year. His feelings for Cas. Cas was so beautiful, and he couldn’t seem to look away.

Finally, he had the presence of mind to turn around. He poked the bed, and tried to joke, “Nice soft feather bed. Doesn’t seem fair for me to take it, since I invited myself over. I’ll take the hard floor, if it’s all the same to you.” He chanced a glance back at Cas, who now wore a soft, faded AC/DC T-shirt. _Dean’s_ old T-shirt.

A strange feeling engulfed him. It felt right, and it felt _good_ to see Cas in his shirt. Like his old, soft tee was right where it belonged. As if, since the shirt had once belonged to him, then _Cas_ belonged to him, too. The possessive feeling stung his gut. Made it feel sweet and fluttery at the same time.

What in the _hell_ was wrong with him? 

He shouldn’t be feeling like this about Cas. He _didn’t_ feel this way about Cas. It’s just that he hadn’t seen his friend in so long that now the old, intense feelings engulfed him. Drowned him. Made him feel _more_ , in this moment, than was real. He cared about Cas, yeah. But that was it. Right?

Castiel’s intense blue gaze leveled him with a look. “I am sleeping on the floor. It’s where I need to be. Where I want to be.”

Cas wanted to sleep on the floor. That seemed to imply he did not want to lie in the bed with Dean. Dean didn’t know how to interpret the twist of rejection he felt. “If we’re here tomorrow night, then we’ll switch.”

“I will not argue with you, Dean. You are the guest, and I will take the floor.” Cas’s final tone brooked no argument.

Dean slid into the bed. It felt soft, and perfect. It also felt big. Much bigger than his bed at home. He opened his mouth to joke that he wouldn’t notice if Cas climbed in, but then he swallowed the words. _Stupid idea, Winchester._ Cas was right to sleep on the floor. Because right now, Dean wasn’t thinking quite straight.

“’Night, Cas.”

“’Night, Dean.” Cas blew out the lamp, and a quiet, companionable darkness settled into the small room.

Dean heard Cas’s soft footsteps pad over to his blanket on the hard floor. Heard his quiet movements when he lay down. Heard as his breath hushed into sleep. And it felt good to be here with Cas. He’d missedhim.

For the first time, Dean realized that his true home, where his heart lived, was with Cas. It would _always_ be with Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typhoeus and Echidna and their children:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Typhon  
> http://www.mythweb.com/encyc/gallery/ladon_c.html  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hesperides
> 
> Castalian Springs in Delphi:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castalian_Spring
> 
> If leave out Castalia, place this later, when she’s included  
> Castalia and the Castalian Springs in Delphi:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castalian_Spring  
> http://www.theoi.com/Nymphe/NympheKastalia.html  
> http://www.mythindex.com/greek-mythology/N/Nymphae.html


	51. Chapter 51

Dean slept soundly, lying on his back, with his lips slightly parted, when Castiel arose the next morning. He paused for a moment, and let his gaze trace his friend’s relaxed features. He itched to draw Dean, but his skills were rusty. He hadn’t used the gifts the Purcivals had given him last year. Perhaps because he’d wanted to punish himself. But he’d also never felt the desire to pick up pencil and paper until now.

Dean’s mouth looked gentle, his face younger asleep. And Castiel wanted to protect him. Dean was a good man. He feared that Dean being in his world right now would ultimately hurt him, if not kill him. But he would not leave, as Cas knew all too well. He was too stubborn for his own good.

Dean’s eyes fluttered open, catching Castiel watching him. “Cas.” The one word was soft. Something sweet fluttered, in the pit of his stomach.

Castiel swallowed, feeling a bit unnerved. “Good morning, Dean. I was about to cook some eggs. Are you hungry?”

He swung his feet to the floor. “Starving.” His low voice sounded huskier than normal, and more flutters tickled Cas’s belly, which bewildered him.

Dean stood, and Castiel moved to the side, to get out of his way, but he accidentally moved in the same direction as his friend, so they stood face to face, inches from each other. Dean’s black pupils obliterated the green, and Castiel must be mistaken, for Dean’s shallow breaths sounded agitated.

Cas felt a little agitated, himself. It deeply confused him. “Dean?”

He licked his lips. “Yeah. How about you move this way...” his fingertips gently pressed into Cas’s arm, “...and I’ll move this way.” They slid apart, as easy as a window sliding open.

Castiel concentrated upon fixing breakfast, which Dean complimented, the moment he took his first bite. “Man,” he sent Castiel an odd, twisted smile, “you’re a good cook. I could get used to this.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say. He’d love to cook breakfast for Dean every morning. Something warm and right slid through him at the thought. “Do you still want to kill Ty and Echna today?”

It seemed strange to calmly contemplate cold-blooded murder. Cas still didn’t feel right about it, as evil as he knew the Rowleys were. They had raised him, after all. If it wasn’t for them, he might have died as a baby.

“We’ll need to find a bow and arrows to kill Echna. She’s our first target, since she’s keeping you from your mother.”

“And today is our birthday.”

“If Echna’s gone, maybe you’ll finally meet your mother tonight.”

Castiel still wasn’t sure how he felt about killing Echna. But the thought of meeting his mother for the first time ever, and perhaps being set free from his bondage to the well, and to the Rowleys, appealed greatly.

_Bang BaNG **BANG**_

The harsh pounding on the door made him jump.

“Castiel! _Castiel._ ”

Castiel bolted to his feet. He threw open the door. “Harry! What’s wrong?”

“It’s _Ana_. She’s missing.”

Behind Castiel, Dean swore, “Damn it to _hell!_ ”

*****

It appeared Ana had disappeared sometime during the night. Harry did not know when, but Ana had gone to bed at nine o’clock. The Purcivals had already told their friends in Delphoi, and the entire town was mobilized to search.

“I’m sure the Rowleys kidnapped her.” Harry’s anguished gaze tore into Castiel like a meat cleaver. “You can stop them. You can find her, can’t you, Castiel?”

He felt a wave of guilt clash with the horror seizing his heart. This was his fault. Ana was missing, and it was _his_ fault.

“You bet we can,” Dean interjected. “We’ll have Ana home in no time.”

Castiel felt paralyzed. “I’m so _sorry_.” If only he’d found a hagstone for Ana, too...

“It’s not your fault, Cas!” Dean’s voice sounded harsh. Bracing. Like a needed slap to the face. “We’ll find her. But first, we’ll load up on weapons. I have a bunch in my backpack.”

“What about a bow and arrows? We’ll need one to kill Echna.” Castiel finally began to think. But he was scared to think about killing Ty. It would mean starting another massive storm, like the one that had spawned the devastating tornado. That storm was the first time he’d _kn\own_ he’d shot lightning bolts from the sky. He’d almost killed Ty then. It would have been best if he had.

“I’ll find a bow and arrows,” Harry said. “Please hurry!”

“We’ll check the Rowley’s house and shop first.” Dean shoved knives and guns into place on his belt and into the strap above his ankle. He donned the role of leadership easily, as if accustomed to giving commands in a battle. Well, he probably was, with all of the monster killing missions the Winchesters had shouldered over the years. “We may get caught in a time warp, but we’ll do our best to be back by midafternoon. Spread out and search the woods, too.”

“Contact James in Athina,” Castiel put in. Finally, his shocked brain moved into higher gear. He had to compartmentalize his feelings. He had to save Ana. “Ask them to check the river banks.” He hoped the Rowleys had not drowned Ana, or killed her. He would put nothing past them, however. He felt sick at heart, but tried to shove his feelings aside and think clearly, like Dean.

Castiel armed himself with a knife and a bag of salt, along with the assorted odds and ends that Dean pressed on him, and they quickly followed Harry down the hill. From here, it was easy to see Delphoin residents swarming the streets. Many already clustered into groups and headed into the woods.

Harry had run inside the Rowleys’ shop, and now he poked his head out as they approached. “She’s not here. It’s empty.”

Dean shouldered his way inside. “We’ll check for trap doors. Anything strange.”

Harry found a crowbar and tried to lift planks from the floor. Nothing moved.

“She’s not here.” Harry wrung his hands, and looked petrified.

“Cas and I will take the house. Keep Priscilla safe, Harry. She’ll need you, when we get Ana home. And get that bow and arrows. We’ll need them later.”

Harry stared at them, his mouth working. Tears filled his eyes.

Castiel put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find her, Harry. I promise.”

He _would_ find Ana, if it was the last thing he did. Castiel strode for the Rowleys’ house and slammed open the door. Dean checked the attic, and Castiel checked the bedroom. No little girl.

Dean and Castiel worked together to swiftly lift the cellar’s trap door. They clattered down the steps, Castiel taking the lead, and burst into Echna’s laboratory. A flashlight beamed around the room revealed that it was empty. The two tables were gone, and so was the strange lump of gold.

Dean crossed the room and stuck his head in the courtyard. “Empty,” he reported, and quickly jerked back, probably hoping to lose as little time as possible to the time warp.

“Where could she be?” Fear gnawed at Castiel’s gut. “Where would they take her? And where did Echna and Ty go?”

“Not to mention where did they haul all of their weird Sphere forcing crap.”

“Echna must have a new lab.”

“A new hiding place.” Dean gave a grim nod. “But where?”

Castiel tried to think. Where hadn’t they looked? The courtyard. The wall. “Dean,” he said slowly. “The courtyard. We’ve never looked to see what’s on the other side of the wall.”

“Let’s do it. I’ll give you a boost up. We’ll need to be quick, though.”

“Okay.”

Dean opened the door and they sprinted across the yard to the high, stone wall. Dean put his hands together in a step for Castiel, who used it to vault up and grip the top edge of the stone wall, which was a good nine feet high. He easily pulled himself up.

A garden, dotted with trees, spilled across lush green hills on the other side of the wall. And right in the middle of the nearest clearing was a small, delicate apple tree. One golden apple hung from its slenderest branch. And beneath the tree curled a snake-like serpent. The dragon, Ladon.

Castiel jumped back down. Dean followed his fast footsteps out of the gate, and into the late afternoon sunlight. “I saw Ladon. And the golden apple.”

“So now we know two things. Ana’s not over the courtyard wall, and neither are the Rowleys. And second, if one of the Rowleys’ demonic monsters has Ana, it’s not Ladon. Which means it’s either Chimera, or the Nemean Lion. I’m betting on the lion. One of the sites said the lion loved to take women hostage to lure in rescuers. I’m guessing Echna wants to lure us somewhere and kill us.”

A weary looking Harry trudged up the hill, but his steps quickened when he saw Castiel and Dean. The bow and arrows on his back looked like a natural fit, as if he’d been carrying them all day. They quickly exchanged information. Ana had not been found yet. And if Harry’s expression was anything to go by, they were starting to lose hope.

But Castiel had one more idea. “The Greek monster Echidna guarded a spring, right? This Echna has been guarding the well...or me. But maybe a spring is involved, too. Dean, remember the spring we swam in a few years ago? Up the hill from there is a cave.”

“The lion liked to hang out in a cave. Good idea. We’ll need rope to strangle it,” Dean said. “I have some in the car. After I did my research, I bought the strongest, most lightweight rope I could find.”

“I’ll gather up men to scout the cave,” Harry said. Hope brightened his eyes for the first time. “We’ll meet you there.”

*****

It didn’t take long for Dean to pull the rope from the trunk of his car, but Sam waylaid them on their trip back to the laurel trees.

“What’s going on?”

Voice curt with worry, Castiel said, “Ana’s been kidnapped.”

“Stay here, Sammy. We need to gank a bitch of a monster.”

“Ana?” Sam’s face paled, and then it went blank and hard. “I’m coming. You can’t stop me.”

“Sammy!”

But neither Castiel nor Dean had the time to dissuade Dean’s brother. Which, if based upon his dogged, set face, would mean, at minimum, tying him up in the cabin. Castiel suspected only drastic measures would stop Sam from following them right now.

“Stay out of it, Sammy,” Dean warned, as they plunged through the woods on Castiel’s side of the laurel trees. Cas led them at a fast clip, heading through the woods on a direct path to the beginning of the spring.

They found a cluster of a dozen men, along with Priscilla, hovering at the cave’s entrance. Several men carried blazing torches. A faint, sweet smell drifted from the cave.

“Two men went in. There was a horrible growl, and then screams... They didn’t come back out,” Priscilla whispered, her eyes dark pools of horror.

Dean checked the clip in his gun. “It’s hide can’t be broken. But I might be able to shoot it in the mouth.”

“I’ll take the rope,” Castiel said quietly. “I’ll be the one to strangle it.”

“Castiel! You can’t.” Priscilla clapped both hands to her mouth.

“I will save Ana, Priscilla.” Castiel took the rope from Dean, and clenched it in his fist.

Dean’s fingers gripped his wrist, urging him to turn and face him. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be. But I want you to stay out here. We don’t know if that horseshoe will protect you.”

“You’re not going in alone.” Dean’s flat tone and steady, bracing gaze told Castiel that he would never leave him alone. “We’re in this together. And we’re going to win. We’ll rescue Ana. It’ll all be fine.”

Castiel nodded. Harry pressed a torch into each of their hands. “Be careful. I’ll follow with the bow and arrows.”

“No,” Dean said. “Stay here. Ana needs you. And the bow and arrows won’t help. But a club might. We might need to stun the lion.”

A man in the throng volunteered a club, which Dean hefted in his hand. Harry’s worried, conflicted gaze followed Castiel and Dean into the cave’s entrance.


	52. Chapter 52

It quickly grew dark within the cave. The torches only lit a few feet in front of them. Castiel led the way, which Dean didn’t like at all. He wanted to cut in between Cas and the danger lurking ahead. He wanted to be able to protect his friend. Castiel hadn’t killed hundreds of monsters, like he had, after all. But Cas _had_ killed Orthros. So he told himself to shut up about his worry. But he couldn’t.

Dean whispered, “We know the hagstone will protect you. You get its attention, and I’ll bash it on the head.”

“Then I’ll climb on its back and strangle it.” Cas’s tense, dry smile said he knew it wouldn’t be so easy.

They edged deeper into the seemingly endless black cave. It began to widen, though, and Cas abruptly stopped in front of him. Dean moved to his side. Across the cave, a golden lion crouched, facing them, tail twitching. The torchlight glimmered off its hide, making the demonic animal look like it was made of gold. And right behind the lion, squeezed into a tiny corner, her face pale with fear, was Ana. She squeaked when she saw them, and pressed her white, small hands against her mouth.

The lion growled.

A shadowy movement to Dean’s left flickered, but before he could turn, something whacked him, hard on the head. Pain exploded, and stars popped behind his eyelids. He glimpsed black fabric and claw-like hands before he crumpled to the floor. The torch rolled across the floor, but kept burning.

“Echna!” Cas snarled.

A high pitched laugh echoed in the large cave. “Can’t save your boy now, Castiel. Get him, Nemean!” Echna scuttled down the passageway.

Dean groggily sat up, just as the lion sprang across the cave.

“Son of a... Shit!” Dean grabbed the club and swung it hard at the beast’s head. It connected. Dean felt the impact shudder up his arms, but it didn’t seem to faze the lion. The beast snarled, and its jaws ripped the club from Dean’s hands. Dean fell back and fumbled for his gun. The lion’s hot breath seared his skin, and sharp claws snagged into his jacket and pulled, shredding it. Dean fired the gun into the beast’s belly. But it seemed to have no effect.

Castiel leaped onto the beast’s furry back, looping the rope around its neck. His biceps bulged hard in his arms, and the beast roared. It reared up. Its body twisted and bucked, knocking Cas sideways, but Castiel still hung on, rope cinched tight in his fists.

The beast lunged for Dean and dropped down, legs raking through the air. Its paws scratched deep, shredding into his skin. Dean screamed in agony.

“Dean!” Something flew through the air and landed on Dean’s chest. Castiel struggled to remount the beast.

The lion reared away from Dean, as if _he_ were the demonic monster now. Pain screamed through Dean’s head. His shaking hand closed around the object. The hagstone. Cas had thrown him the hagstone, because Dean’s horseshoe was worthless.

That meant Cas was unprotected right now.

Dean fought against the searing pain and sat up, quickly pulling the necklace over his head. He staggered to his feet and lunged after the bucking, snarling lion, who was trying its damnedest to twist its neck and bite Cas.

Dean smashed the club onto the beast’s head with nerve jarring force. The lion staggered, and stumbled. Cas pulled hard on the rope, muscles straining, and the lion’s head fell back.

It gasped out a sickly roar. Dean bashed its head again, and Cas fought to strangle the thick neck of the ferocious beast. It went down on its knees, and its thin, choked breaths sounded labored.

After what seemed like hours, the lion fell sideways and lay still. Cas tumbled off to the side, his arms visibly shaking from the strain. Deep red marks dug deep into his palms.

Dean pulled out his gun, pried open the beast’s mouth, and shot inside.  The glittering, golden body combusted into feathery, sooty flakes, and disappeared.

“Castiel!” Ana dashed across the room. She flung herself into her brother’s arms. “And Dean! You saved me.” She burst into tears. Her wet face was pale and blotchy.

Cas held her tight, and when he finally released her, Ana turned to Dean. Horror blanched her face when she stared at his chest. “You’re bleeding!”

Dean looked down at himself. He managed a weak smile. “Just a few scratches.”

Cas staggered to his feet and crossed the short distance between them. His gentle hands pulled the jacket from Dean’s sticky skin. His face blanched. “ _Dean._ ”  His grim, reproving look said he wasn’t buying the flip comment.

Weakly, Dean said, “It hurts like a bitch?”

“Daddy!” Ana sprinted down the passageway. Dean turned to see Harry swing the little girl up into his arms and hold her tight.

“Let’s go.” Castiel’s firm, steady hand on Dean’s shoulder urged him forward. “I’ll get you some healing water.”

They made it out to the cave entrance. Dean’s wounds hurt more with each passing minute, but he managed to bite back the groans that wanted to escape.

Several men held a struggling Echna, whose wrists were bound by rope.  When she saw Dean and Castiel emerge from the cave, her eyes bulged out. “You killed my _baby!_ ” she shrieked. Her deranged gaze fell to the hagstone hanging above Dean’s heart.

Dean had no time to feeling anything more than a shot of fear before the old woman threw her head back and screamed incantations to the sky. Her bony finger jabbed at Castiel. “Rigormotem salvacia ignas morci!”

One second Cas stood beside Dean, and the next he crumpled to the ground. His waxy face looked as white as death.

“ _Cas!_ ” Dean dropped to his knees and pressed his fingers to Castiel’s pulse point. He did not feel a heartbeat. “ _Cas._ ”

Echna screamed unintelligible things. Priscilla gasped, “She escaped!”

“What do you need?” Sam knelt beside him, his face pale. “I’ll get it.”

Dean swallowed, trying to think. Trying to order his thoughts. _Cas was dead_. Grief fogged his brain. _No._ He couldn’t be dead. Not Cas.

“He needs healing water,” Ana cried. “Help me, Sam. We have a bucket at home.”

Dean choked out, “Try Cas’s house. It’s closer. He has a bucket there.”

“Ana!” Priscilla cried, when the little girl ran away, but Sam paused to explain what they were doing before following her. Priscilla quieted down when Harry ran after them, too.  She knelt on the other side of Castiel. “Dean. What can we do?”

“I’ll try CPR.” Dean tipped Cas’s head back, made sure his airway was clear, and started chest compressions.

And then it struck him that Echna had cursed Castiel. Just as her other devil child, the Hydra, had magically poisoned Dean two summers ago. The hagstone might break this enchantment, just as it had broken his. He carefully lifted Cas’s head and draped it around his neck. He settled the hagstone directly over Cas’s chest.

Castiel gasped, and his eyes fluttered.

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean growled. He pushed Cas’s perpetual bed hair out of his eyes. Castiel’s eyes remained closed, however, and his breathing sounded shallow and erratic.

“Dean!” Sam gasped, running up with a pail. Ana carried the dipper.

Dean pulled Cas up into his lap so he was sitting up, cradled in Dean’s arms, and he carefully held the dipper to his friend’s lips. “Drink, buddy,” he whispered. Cas’s lips barely moved, as if wanting to obey, but unable to do so. Gently, Dean slid a finger between Cas’s lips and tipped his head back. He allowed a little water to trickle into his mouth, but not enough to choke him. Castiel swallowed, convulsively. “ _Cas._ ” Dean’s relieved, scared whisper sounded broken, even to his own ears.

“Good.” Priscilla looked on with worry and compassion...and also with something else; something softer and knowing, as she gazed at Dean. “Try a few more sips.”

Dean managed to get half the dipperful down Cas, and then his friend sagged back heavily in his arms. Panic hit him.

“Cas!” Two fingers to his pulse proved his heartbeat was stronger, and his breathing still thready, but better. “I think he passed out.”

“You need to get him home. To bed,” Priscilla said softly. “Harry. Help Dean carry Castiel home.”

Several of the men gathered to help carry Cas, and they slowly made their way to Castiel’s small home, where they lay him on the bed. Dean covered him up to his chin with the blankets. He remembered when he’d been enchanted. He’d felt bone cold, and it wasn’t just because of the rain that had soaked him. The enchantment had seemed to leech every scrap of warmth out of his body.

“Ana’s safe. Thank you, Dean. We can never thank you and Castiel enough,” Harry’s voice broke.

“I wish that bitch hadn’t escaped,” Dean said through his teeth. He turned to the others in the small room. “Cas needs to rest. Can we talk more about this tomorrow?”

Ana ran to press a kiss to Castiel’s cheek, and she hugged Dean again. “Thank you, Dean. I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.” Dean gently hugged her back.

Sam’s worried gaze followed Ana out the door with her parents, and then he turned back to Dean. “What can I do to help?”

“Go home. Tell Dad I won’t be back tonight.”

“Can I get you anything?”

Dean glanced at Cas, lying very still, but now starting to shiver. “No. I have everything I need right here.”

Sam gave him a strange look, but nodded. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Late morning. How’s that? And don’t forget to take care of your own wounds.”

“Sounds good, Sammy. And...thanks for your help.”

“I’m proud of you, Dean. You and Cas saved Ana’s life, and you saved Cas’s life. I’ll tell Dad. He’ll be real proud of you, too.”

“Thanks, kid.” Dean ruffled his hair, and Sam sprinted into the woods for the laurel trees. Dean briefly wondered where Echna was, but guessed she’d skedaddled into her time warp. Otherwise, she’d be put in irons. If iron could hold her.

He turned back to Castiel, who lay shivering harder on the bed. At least he knew how to help his friend now. He stripped off his jacket and shirt first, to deal with the painful, deep lacerations grooved into his chest. The pain had vanished when he’d been so worried about Cas, but now it flooded back, hurting like a bitch.

He swiftly drank Cas’s magic water, and, using a wet rag, smoothed it over his chest, too. Pink skin showed immediately, and another application did more good. He pulled on a T-shirt, for the cabin was growing cool.

Cas groaned in the bed now, and he drew his knees to his chest, and curled up into a shuddering ball. Dean was glad for an excuse to slide into the bed, and to hold him, although he wouldn’t examine why too closely. He gently pulled Cas into his arms, spooning him like Castiel had done for him last year. Almost immediately, the shudders rippling through his friend eased, and Dean smiled. He buried his chin and nose in his friend’s soft hair and breathed deeply of just Cas. He smelled of starlight and warm summer days...and just Cas.

Dean was so grateful he was alive. He held Cas tighter, and drifted to sleep.

*****

Dean wasn’t sure what woke him up, but when he blinked awake he was aware of two things: he felt Cas’s warm back, pressed up against his chest, and a soft blue light flooded the room. It seemed to come from the direction of the door.

He turned his head a little and drew a sharp breath. A woman stood in the doorway, her hair long and golden, her gown pale blue. Her entire body seemed to sparkle with light. The very air around her seemed to shimmer.

Dean held Castiel tighter. “Who are you?” he whispered roughly.

“Don’t worry, Dean.” Her voice sounded soft and lyrical, like a song waiting to be written. “I will not harm Castiel. I am Castalia, his mother.” She moved to the end of the bed, so Dean could see her without straining his neck. Her gaze riveted upon Castiel, as if she couldn’t drink in the sight of him quickly enough. A soft, sad smile curved her lips.

Dean still didn’t let go of Cas. So, this was Castiel’s mother. The woman who had abandoned him to this crappy life. She seemed harmless enough, but he wouldn’t loosen his protective grip on Cas.

“If you’re his mother, then why did you abandon him to the Rowleys?” His words sounded hard and biting, but he didn’t care. The woman had dumped Cas. He’d suffered, all of his life, because she’d forsaken him.

“It’s a long story, Dean. One I do not have the time to tell you. But I regret that Castiel has had to suffer. One day you will see it was the only way.”

“The only way for _what?_ ”

“To save our two worlds. To save _all_ of the worlds. I only have a few moments. Please tell Castiel I will return in two years, when he turns twenty-one. At that time, if he wishes it, I will set him free from his bondage to the well. And to this farm.”

“He wants to be free _now_. Can you do that?” Anger bit through his voice. Protectiveness for his friend demanded that he get everything he could from Castalia. Anything and everything that would benefit Cas.

“I’m sorry.” Compassion mixed with the sorrow in her tone. “But no. The time is not right. And Castiel is unconscious. _He_ must tell me his wishes, and only on his birthday. The time will come. Sooner than you expect.”

“Two freakin’ years is a long time. Do you know what those Rowleys are doing to him? To the people he loves?”

“I know. But Castiel is proving worthy of my highest hopes. And the highest hopes of his father. You are, too, Dean.” The soft look of love that she’d feasted upon Castiel’s features turned to encompass Dean, as well. “You are doing a good job of taking care of my son. He needs your love, and I am grateful that you care for him so much.”

Dean finally realized what it must look like, with him holding Cas so tightly right now. The two of them lying in bed together. Flustered, he said, “It’s not... It’s not...”

Castalia smiled. “I know exactly what it is, Dean.” Softly, she said, “And I approve.”

Dean flushed. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Do you have a message for him? I know he’d like one.”

“Tell him I love him. I’ve missed him desperately for the last nineteen years. Tell him I’m proud of the man that he has become. And tell him I will see him soon.”  Her body shimmered, going translucent, and sparkled like stars.

“Wait! Tell me one last thing. Are you Ana’s mother, too?” Cas would want to know that for sure.

“Of course I am.” A light laugh tinkled. “I put them both in their places in this world for a purpose. And the doorway to your world is open for a purpose, as well. To serve the highest purpose ever possible.”

“What is that?”

But the shimmering lights faded to stardust, and melted into the moonbeams glowing through the window.

Dean settled back down, and spread his hand across Castiel’s chest, feeling his heartbeat, steady beneath his fingertips, and his quiet, even breaths, indicating his friend was getting better. He’d be okay, and Dean was so grateful. Relief helped him to relax a little more.

He wished he’d been more prepared for Castalia’s arrival, but he’d entirely forgotten about Cas’s mother and their birthday after battling the lion and Echna’s curse tonight. He probably should have asked Castalia more important, relevant questions, but he hadn’t been able to think of any, and he still couldn’t. He closed his eyes. Feeling oddly relaxed, he fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

*****

Dean slowly swam awake the next morning, pushing through the soft, cottony fabric of deep, healing sleep. Something tugged him from unconsciousness, although he couldn’t figure out what it was.

One by one, slow impressions imprinted upon his senses. He became aware of Cas, still in his arms, but now his friend faced him. Cas’s gentle breaths felt warm against his neck. Dean slitted open his eyes. Castiel’s eyes were closed, and his features completely relaxed in sleep.

And then he became aware of what had pulled him from slumber. Castiel’s hand gripped the back of Dean’s belt and he was sleepily, awkwardly, fumbling to tug Dean’s hips closer to his own. Dean went very still, and allowed Cas to have his way with him. He felt as Castiel shifted closer, too, until Cas’s hips barely brushed his. His heart beat faster, feeling like a drum in his ears. And then Castiel’s knee bumped into Dean’s. His heart nearly stopped, and heat slid though him as Cas threaded his leg through Dean’s, pulling him closer, and Cas snuggled into his neck. It felt _nice_.

“Oh, God. _Cas,_ ” Dean whispered, and tightened his arm around him, burying his face in his hair. Breathing in Castiel. “Oh, _God,_ ” he whispered again. This felt so good. It felt so natural and right for Cas to be his arms like this. Dean never wanted to let him go. His leg shifted over Castiel’s, locking him in, possessively securing him close against him.

Dean didn’t want to think about this meaning anything at all. Cas was innocent, and _this_ was innocent, and Dean wanted it to stay that way. This, right now, felt right and good, and he didn’t want it to ever change.


	53. Chapter 53

When Castiel woke up, he lay alone on the bed. The sheets where Dean had lain were still warm, though. When he sat up on one elbow, he saw his friend through the open door, washing his face in a bucket of water.

Castiel felt sore, as if one of Echna’s monsters had chewed him up and spit him out. He also felt a bit lightheaded, but that might be because he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. With a yawn, he sat up and swung his bare feet to the cold wooden floor.

Dean shouldered his way inside and offered Castiel a smile. “Mornin’ sunshine.” Although his smile seemed easy, his gaze bored into Castiel with quiet intensity.

Castiel felt suddenly tongue-tied, and struggled to figure out why. Dean had obviously kept him warm last night. He’d slept with Cas, holding him tight all night long. That was all Castiel remembered. But from the quick, sidelong look Dean gave him right now, and his smiling, narrowed gaze, which was dark and completely unreadable, Castiel wondered if he was forgetting something important.

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel swallowed. His mouth felt dry and sticky, and Dean immediately shoved a glass of water in his hand, which he gratefully drank.

Dean move to the stove, assembling ingredients to fry up eggs and toast bread. “How many eggs do you want?”

“Three, please. Thank you.” He chewed on his lip. “What happened last night? I don’t remember anything after Echna cursed me.”

Dean smiled. “So you’re blaming it on the curse, huh?”

“What do you mean?” His head tilted in confusion.

“Nothin.’ Nothing at all. Your mother came to visit last night.” Dean flipped the eggs.

“My _mother?_ ”

“Castalia. That’s her name.” Dean served up breakfast and told Cas everything he’d learned last night.

Castiel tucked into breakfast, sitting opposite from Dean at the tiny table. “So I’m here for a reason. She left me with the Rowleys for a reason.”

Dean’s brows furrowed. “No telling if it’s a good reason.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Call me a skeptic. But I see all kinds of screwed up crap, Cas. Supernatural beings; well, they’re not always what they seem.”

“Ana likes her. And you said she seems nice.”

Dean’s fingers pinched his brow. “She does seem nice. Look. I’m sure she _is_ nice. She seems to really love you, but I have a problem with someone—who supposedly loves you—doing something shitty like that. I mean, forsaking you to two psychopaths. Shoot me, but I hate it. I hate what it’s done to you.”

Castiel understood. Softly, he said, “But if it wasn’t for all of this misfortune, Dean, I am certain I would never have met you.”

He huffed a laugh. “Maybe that would have been better.”

“ _No._ That would not have been better.” Castiel frowned. “Don’t talk like that. You mean everything to me, Dean. I wouldn’t give up meeting you for...for _anything._ ”

A slow smile pulled at his lips. “Yeah? Well I feel the same way. And seeing we don’t have much choice about it, we need to make the most of it.” Despite his cheeky grin, Dean seemed a little...off, somehow. Awkward, even. Castiel couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

His brows furrowed. “Did something else happen last night, Dean? Something you haven’t told me?”

“Nope. Going to finish that toast? Because I’m hungry.” He snagged it and opened his mouth wide.

Cas grabbed the toast back from Dean’s filching fingers, and pushed the last quarter into his mouth. He smiled at his friend’s aggrieved expression. “I’m feeling better. What are our plans for today?”

“Kill Ladon. Steal the apple. Then we’re down to one monster, and I’m not counting Cerberus, because I don’t think the Rowleys can steal him away from Hades.”

“Don’t forget the Rowleys. They’re dangerous, too.”

“They’re probably lost in some time warp until it’s safe for them to come back here. So we need to kill Ladon while we can. You up for it?”

“Yes. But Hercules killed him with an arrow.”

“I’ll practice up this morning. I’ve always wanted to learn how to shoot with a bow and arrows. Now’s my chance.” He offered another cheeky grin.

“You’re in a good mood this morning, Dean,” he said with some suspicion. “Why?”

He shrugged, and his gaze unexpectedly fell and lightly grazed over Castiel’s crumby lips. “Maybe I had sweet dreams.”

Something warm and confused slid through Castiel. He licked his lips and swallowed. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.”

“ _Dean,_ ” he said sternly.

But Dean only smiled. “Cooks don’t clean. Right? So, while you’re cleaning, I’ll catch up with Sammy. He should be on his way here. I’ll be back in a few.”

Still frowning, Castiel watched Dean go, his stride loose and almost...jaunty. Dean wasn’t telling him something. And he had a feeling he wanted to remember what it was.


	54. Chapter 54

Dean practiced with the bow and arrows Harry had left the night before, while Sammy ran down the hill to visit with the Purcivals. Sam knew they planned to enter the time warp, and he would return to the cabin on his own.

While he practiced, Dean did his best not to think about lying tangled up with Cas this morning, or Castiel’s sweet, awkward fumbling to pull Dean close against him. Dean knew Cas would be horribly embarrassed if he knew what he had done, so Dean wouldn’t tell him. In fact, he decided it would be best not to think about those things at all, although when he did, a jab of warm pleasure shot through him. Not good. _Move on, Winchester._

Cas, in the meantime, retrieved the arrows Dean shot through a cloth bulls-eye that Castiel had quickly painted. While he’d painted, Dean had admired the sketch set and paints the Purcivals had given Castiel last year, and wondered why Cas hadn’t used them yet.

“I’m waiting for the right time,” Cas had told him. “When I need to say something important.”

Now it was lunchtime, and after eating a quick lunch of bread, cheese, fruit, and milk, they headed down into the Rowleys’ cellar. Castiel carried a knife, as well as Dean’s pack and the rope, and Dean carried the bow and arrows. Dean felt confident of his new archery skills, and also satisfied that he’d learned so quickly. He had a knack for weapons, and was glad to know it extended to the bow and arrows, too.

The old lab still smelled dank, and of some foul, noxious odor.

Castiel handed Dean the backpack, and paused before opening the courtyard door. “We have nine minutes. Ten on the outside, if we want to return to the cabin before your five days ends.”

Dean set his timer. “You’ll boost me up, and I’ll shoot. Then I’ll jump down, grab the apple, and you’ll pull me back over the wall with the rope.”

“Sounds too easy.”

Dean grinned. “The Rowleys are gone. While the cat’s away, the mice will play.”

Cas’s confused expression said he’d never heard that saying before. It was cute. Dean grinned. “Ready?”

Castiel sent him a look, perhaps wondering if Dean was making fun of his ignorance. “One, two, three, _go_...”

They sprinted across the courtyard, and Castiel gave Dean such a powerful boost up that his chest hit the top edge of the wall, and he grappled, swiftly pulling himself up.

Ladon lay coiled like a snake around the golden apple tree, snoozing in the warm sunshine. Dean threaded the arrow into place. He almost felt guilty about shooting the peaceful looking serpent. But he knew looks were deceiving. Ty and Echna weren’t named the Father and Mother of all monsters for nothing.

Carefully, he aimed, and the arrow flew straight and true into the serpent’s neck. Its head flared upward, hissing and snarling, and the serpent literally _flew_ at Dean.

“Holy shit!” Dean almost fell off the wall. He grabbed at the rough stone, scrabbling to hang on. Half of his arrows fell out of the quiver, scattering into the courtyard below him, and barely missing Cas’s head. The serpent hit his boot, and pain sliced into his foot. “Damn it to _hell!_ ”

“Dean!”

Suddenly, Cas was on the wall beside him, brandishing a knife, and he didn’t even know how his friend had made it up there, until he saw the upside down bucket in the courtyard. He also saw the rope, tied tightly to the tree, and the other end trailing over the garden wall. What was Cas up to now? This was _not_ part of the plan.

“Damn it, Cas! It’s not safe up here.” Dean fumbled for an arrow, strung it, and as the serpent coiled, tongue hissing out, he shot another arrow into its head.

Castiel ignored him, and to Dean’s consternation, dropped down into the garden. The serpent rose high above Castiel, its head weaving back and forth, as if trying to get a good look at the best place to bite him. With two arrows sticking out of its body, the snake looked creepy and bizarre.

“Damn it, Cas, _run!_ ”

“Throw me the backpack.”

Dean muttered, “We are going to have a _serious_ talk after this.” But he threw the pack to Castiel, who sprinted for the golden apple hanging from the tree.

The serpent darted, as swift as lighting, after him. Dean swore again, and jumped down into the garden. As soon as he landed, he strung another arrow, pulled the bow string back, and ran after his friend. The serpent already twined around the tree again, hissing and spitting at Cas, who hovered just out of range.

“What part of the plan did you _not_ hear?” he grumbled at Castiel’s side.

“I’ll distract him. Shoot him in the mouth.”

Dean’s arms shook a little from holding the bow ready for so long. But he didn’t like Cas using himself as bait, either. “Damn it.”

Cas’s blue eyes flashed with amusement. “Swearing will not help matters, Dean.”

“What about whipping your ass?”

Cas laughed out loud. “I’d like to see you try.”

Dean grinned, too. “Okay. Distract him. Hurry up. My arms are getting tired.”

Castiel dove for the serpent, which made Dean’s heart seize with horrible, gut wrenching fear, and then Cas stabbed the knife deep into its midsection. The serpent screamed.

In the split second its mouth opened wide, Dean shot it clean through the throat.

The snake slowly crumpled into red and black bits, and then it disappeared in a demon-like coil of black smoke.

The golden apple hung directly overhead. It glowed a luminescent color, as if celestial light burned within its skin.  _Nuclear radioactive waste_ was the thought that came to Dean’s mind.

He roughly knocked Cas’s hand aside when his friend reached for the fruit.  “Careful. It looks weird. It might hurt you.”

Castiel touched one of the leaves, which looked perfectly ordinary. Nothing happened, so he plucked two, and then, using the leaves as a buffer between the fruit and his fingers, plucked the golden apple from the tree. Carefully, he set it inside Dean’s backpack.

“Why does this remind me of the Garden of Eden?” Dean muttered.

“I did not offer the fruit for you to eat, Dean.” A faint smile twitched Cas’s lips.

“Wait a minute. Adam picked the fruit. Does that make me _Eve?_ ”

“Do _want_ to be Eve, Dean?”

He tackled Cas, which clearly took him by surprise. He laughed when they both fell to the ground, and Dean tried his best to hold Cas down and give him a hard knuckle rub on his scalp. But although Dean was certainly fit—he prided himself in being so—Cas was much stronger, and he soon pinned Dean on his back. Grass tickled his ears.

Cas laughed down at him, easily holding him down by the wrists, subduing his flailing attempts to free himself. Breathing hard, Dean finally stilled. “Okay. You win.”

“Isn’t there a _word_ that should be used in a time like this? I think Sam mentioned...”

“Uncle. Okay? Uncle.”

Castiel grinned. “ _Eve._ That’s it.”

“Damn you, Cas.” Dean was starting to realize he felt warm with Cas sitting on him, pinning him down like this, and it wasn’t good. His breaths came faster, and he swallowed, suddenly willing to do, or say, anything to get Cas off of him before he did something to embarrass himself. “ _Uncle_ Eve. How about that?”

Cas grinned down at him. “You are lucky I will accept that.” His grip loosened, and his thumbs flickered over Dean’s wrist’s pulse points. Dean knew it was only by accident, but his entire body reacted. “ _Cas..._ ”

Thankfully, his friend rolled off him, completely unaware of what he’d done. Dean rolled over, away from Cas, and took his time getting to his feet. He zipped up the backpack, securing the apple inside. “We’d better hurry,” he said gruffly, after a quick look at his watch. “We’re almost at nine minutes.”

They used the rope to scale the wall, Cas swiftly untied it, and then they sprinted through the garden gate. It was dark. The night of the fifth day. And Dean knew his father was probably pissed.

“Come stay at the cabin tonight.”

“You’re worried your father will be angry. Am I the buffer?”

“Yes, Cas. You’re my buffer. He _likes_ you.”

“He _loves_ you.”

“Will you come, anyway? We’re leaving tomorrow morning. I’d like to spend the night with you.” Then Dean realized how that sounded, and blushed. His cheeks felt hot. “I mean...”

With a sideways smile, Cas let him off the hook. “I would like to spend the evening with you, Dean. And your father and brother, too. Let me pack up a bag and get a bucket of water.”

A little while later, Dean carried the bucket of water as they traipsed through the woods to the cabin.


	55. Chapter 55

“It’s about damn time,” John greeted them when they entered the cabin. He ripped open a bag of chips and dumped them into an orange bowl. Burger fixings lay on a tray on the counter, and Sam stood at the stove, flipping patties.

“Ladon’s dead,” Dean announced.

Castiel noticed he didn’t mention the golden apple.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?”

A scowl flitted across Dean’s face. “We still have three monsters left to kill, including Ty and Echna.”

“I think I’m missing part of the story.”

As they sat down to dinner, Dean explained everything he’d discovered about Ty, Echna, and their children last year. Sam had already filled John in on Ana’s rescue, of course.

John’s gaze focused on Castiel. “So your mother will return in two years. When you’re twenty-one.”

“Yes, sir. Then I can choose to be freed from the well and the Rowleys’ farm.”

“What does that mean?”

“I won’t need the well water to live anymore. Beyond that, I’m not certain.”

John nodded, and said nothing.

Sam filled them in on the bits of Ana’s story they hadn’t heard yet. It turned out Ty was the one who had kidnapped her. Not Echna. But besides that, Ana didn’t remember most of what had happened to her. She remembered feeling really dizzy and strange.

“Ana said it was like a dream,” Sam reported, munching on chips. “She says she babbled things, but doesn’t remember what she said. There were lamps and a hissing noise, but that’s all she remembers.”

“Weird,” Dean commented, and Castiel silently agreed. This new information slid uneasily into his gut, and wouldn’t settle.

They finished up the meal, and Sam pulled rainbow swirled treats from the freezer. He handed one to Castiel with a smile. “It’s a popsicle. Try it. It’s good.”

Castiel tentatively licked the pop, and cool, sweet flavor slid over his tongue.  He grinned, and took another lick. “Thank you. It’s delicious.”

“Dean, do you want one?”

“No. Thanks man, I’m full.” Dean seemed to look anywhere but at Castiel. “My foot hurts like a bitch. I forgot the snake bit me.”

“Dean!” Castiel immediately set the popsicle on his plate. “Use...”

“Yeah. The water. I will, thanks, Cas. I’ll take care of it. You stay here and enjoy dessert.” Dean disappeared with surprising swiftness down the hall. Castiel frowned after him, wondering what was wrong with his friend. But probably it was just what he had said—the serpent bite hurt him a great deal, and he wanted to tend to it.

Dean still hadn’t returned by the time Cas finished dessert and helped clean up the mess.

So Castiel headed back to the bedroom he shared with Dean, and found his friend sitting on the bed, his shirt stripped off, and a red, swollen ankle on his knee. His friend frowned, dabbing at it with a wet washcloth. The claw marks on his chest, although not red or angry, still looked painful.

“Dean.” Castiel stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Cas.” He did not look up.

A few uncomfortable moments elapsed. “You’re not telling me something.”

Dean finally looked up, his eyes narrowed and dark, and difficult to read. “This has been a hell of a day. Five days. Whatever.”

“Tomorrow you can return to your normal life, Dean. It will probably be nice to relax and recover...”

“ _No_ , it won’t.” Castiel stared at him, taken aback by his harsh outburst. Dean said quietly, “I _mean_ it’s gone too fast.”

“Too much has happened too fast.” Castiel understood.

“It’s intense. Everything is intense when we’re together.”

“Perhaps next year we could take some time to relax. Maybe do some normal things in your world.”

He smiled. “I’d like that. ...If we have time, anyway, after killing Chimera. Which reminds me. I want to give you a gun that shoots lead bullets, just in case Chimera tries to attack you or Ana while I’m gone. Shoot her in the throat. The lead will melt and make her suffocate.” He stood, pulled a soft green T-shirt over his head, and padded on bare feet across the room to a duffel bag shoved half under the bed. He pulled out a silver gun with a wooden grip. “Come here.”

Castiel joined Dean’s side, and his friend showed him how the gun worked, and how to insert the bullets. He dumped them back out again, onto the bed, and clicked the gun back together. He placed it in Castiel’s palm. “Hold it like you’re going to fire.”

The gun felt heavier than Castiel had expected. Carefully, he wrapped his hand around the handle, and put his finger on the trigger, as he’d seen Dean do. Then he eased it off, guessing he should be careful not to pull it by accident.

“Right.” Dean took Castiel’s other hand and deftly wrapped it around his trigger hand, showing him how to brace the gun. His palm and fingers felt warm against Castiel’s skin “Grip it tight. Before you shoot, flick off the safety, and you’re set. Think you got it?”

He nodded. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Go ahead and pack it up. I don’t want you to forget it.”

Castiel gathered up the bullets, and carefully placed the weapon in a pocket of his duffel. He wasn’t sure how he felt about having Dean’s gun, although he was glad to have protection, should he need it. It would almost be like Dean being there, protecting him, as he knew his friend wanted to do. Almost, but—well, really not the same at all. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, but he would, if a Greek monster threatened anyone in Delphoi or Athina.

Dean pulled on his socks, and grabbed his guitar. “Come on. Let’s see if Dad will fire up the fireplace. S’mores are a tradition. It’s our last night together.” Melancholy tinged his smile, and finally Castiel understood what Dean was feeling. He was sad. Their time together was fast coming to a close, as usual. Another long year would pass before they could see each other again, and who knew what might happen during that long span of time?

Dean’s job was dangerous. Castiel’s world was deadly. There were no guarantees, ever, that they’d see each other again. They only had now. This moment.

John pretended to grumble, but he lit the fire, and Dean and Castiel lay out the marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate for the s’mores. Sam set his laptop onto the counter behind him.

“I looked up Castalia, Cas. She was a water nymph of the Castalian Spring.”

“Huh. A water nymph.” Dean glanced at Castiel. “Remember when we swam in the spring, Cas? You said you feel at home in the water. Maybe it’s because your mother is a water nymph.”

“That does make sense.” And Castalia appeared to live among the stars now, which may explain why the melodies he’d heard in his boyhood dreams always reminded him of lullabies and stars and love, which lived just beyond the reach of his dreams.

“Cool,” Sam said. “It turns out the Castalian Spring is located at the foot of Mount Parnassus, near Delphi. Castalia was the nymph of the prophetic springs of the Delphic Oracle.”

“A prophetic spring?”

“Yes. The Castalian Spring. People came to consult the Delphic Oracle at the Castalian Spring. Some people think the oracle got her visions from hallucinogenic gasses that flowed up through a crack in the floor of a cave near the spring.”

Sam turned to his computer. “I also found out a few days ago that Apollo shot Echidna, or Python as she’s also called, while he was sitting on the Omphalos Stone.  Remember, omphalos means navel, and was considered the center of the world. The most famous omphalos stone was in Delphi, and it was located near the Delphic Oracle. Back in old Greek culture people believed an omphalos stone could provide direct communication with the ‘gods.’ Some think the Delphic omphalos stone was hollow, which allowed the intoxicating vapors to reach the Oracle, who then prophesied.”

“Woah. A little confusing,” Dean said. “Is this what you’re saying? Castalia, the Castalian Springs, the Delphic Oracle, the Omphalos Stone, and the spot where Apollo killed Echidna, or Python, were all located in the same place?”

“Yes, pretty much. Apollo killed Echidna near the Castalian Spring. Afterward, the Oracle prophesied beneath the Castalian Spring, in a cave.”

“So we need to find that cave in Cas’s world.”

“The cave where we found the Nemean Lion.” Castiel said thoughtfully, putting together the pieces. “It did have an odd smell. Maybe it was from some type of gas.”

“Next year, we’ll explore it. Maybe we’ll find Echna’s new lab.” Dean smirked a little and said, “If it’s the ‘navel’ of the whole cosmos, it makes sense she’d use that location to force the whole Sphere thing. If that’s what she plans to do.”

Castiel frowned. “We can’t wait that long. Echna is dangerous. She needs to be stopped now. I’ll explore the cave when I return home.”

Dean went very still, and just looked at him for several eternal heartbeats. “I don’t like it,” he said roughly. Cas saw the fear in his eyes. Their gazes locked for a long time.

“I need to explore it. You know that, Dean,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean’s fists clenched, briefly, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “Don’t go alone. Promise me you won’t go alone.”

Sam raised his eyebrows and retreated to the living room

“I don’t want to put anyone in danger...”

“ _Don’t_ go alone. Promise me.”

Castiel saw the emotion Dean was trying his hardest to suppress. “I can’t ask Harry. Ana and Priscilla need him.”

“What about James?”

James might be interested in the mission. Greek mythology seemed to be a passion of his, and Castiel had much more to tell him now. “I’ll ask James,” he agreed quietly.

“Good.” Dean continued to hold his gaze, as if there was something more he wanted to say. Castiel waited, wanting to hear it. Wanting to hear Dean’s heart.

Finally, Dean licked his lips and picked up the platter full of s’mores fixings. “Guess we should toast these up.”

Dean took up his customary position in the recliner with the guitar close by, and Castiel sat on the couch. He wanted Dean to sit beside him, but tried to ignore the longing in his heart. Instead, Sam sat beside him, and he smiled at the younger Winchester.

“Plan to set your marshmallow on fire this year, Sam?”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll go for a charcoal briquette.”

Dean snorted.

John sat silently in the armchair across from Dean. Castiel felt John’s gaze on him, and when he turned to look, caught John dividing a penetrating glance between Castiel and Dean. The set of his mouth didn’t look particularly happy, or approving. Cas wasn’t sure why. However, he decided to ignore it. This was his last night here. He wanted to enjoy it. He just wanted to be happy.

They toasted marshmallows, ate the gooey s’mores, and John and Sam deluged Dean with song requests. Some were rock songs, and some were silly ditties, such as one about Susannah not crying for her lover. The evening gradually crept to twelve o’clock.

“The witching hour,” John noted, glancing at the clock on the mantel.

“Hopefully Echna isn’t here,” Dean said, and ran light fingers over the guitar strings.

“Found another line of that song you’re writing?” John asked.

“Nope.”

John stretched, “Well, that’s it for me. Put out the fire, Dean. Goodnight.” He disappeared down the hall. In the corner of the couch, Sam looked sleepy, with his eyes half closed. But he didn’t move.

Castiel finally spoke up with his request. It was the first and only one he’d made all night. “What about that song you played last year, Dean? It was pretty. [Midnight Blue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwBGBElJcuo).”

A small smile pulled at Dean’s lips. “You like that one, do you?”

“Yes.”

Dean’s fingers lightly touched the strings. “Then I’ll sing it for you.” His voice lilted into the tender melody, and his fingers caressed the strings, drawing sweetness from each note. “I will...love you tonight.” His gaze found Castiel’s, and something warm and rich and good slid through Cas. “ I will” he looked down again, “...stay by your side.  Loving you... _Everything’s_ midnight blue.”  

Dean sang the love song to _him_.  Castiel felt it, in his very bones.

Mesmerized, and heart feeling full, Castiel listened as Dean drew out each note like the perfect summer day...the perfect painting...the perfect masterpiece symphony. Finally, his voice faded into silence.

When he glanced up again, their gazes meshed. A small, hard to read smile tugged at Dean’s lips. “So, did you like it, Cas?”

“Yes.” Castiel swallowed hard. Softly, he said, “I loved it. Thank you, Dean.”

He smiled. “Come on. It’s time to turn in. We’ll leave Sammy on the couch.”

Castiel pulled a blanket over Sam, who looked peacefully asleep, and followed Dean back to their room, where they quietly alternated dressing for bed and brushing their teeth in the bathroom. Cas finished first, and he slid between the cool sheets on his bed. He heard Dean enter the room again.

As he lay there, the song continued to play through his mind in Dean’s soft, husky, sweet voice. He longed for Dean. He longed for him with visceral intensity. He lay on his stomach, facing away from Dean, but when his friend hesitated at the lamp between their two beds, he turned his head to see why.

Dean rubbed his palms over the thighs of his sleep pants. He gazed at Castiel, uncertainty written all over his features.

Cas reached out an arm and flipped back the bedcovers. A clear invitation, if Dean wanted to take it.

Dean still hesitated. He licked his lips. “Do you want me there?”

“Yes.”

Dean slid into the bed, and Castiel turned over and put his arm around Dean, gently tugging him closer. Silently, they both moved several inches closer, but their bodies only touched where Cas’s arm connected them. Their breaths intermingled, and Cas felt good, to his very toes.

“Cas,” Dean murmured, in an achingly low voice. “What _is_ this?”

“It’s love, Dean. And it feels really _nice,_ ” he whispered. “Don’t you think so?”

“ _Yes._ ” An ache ground through his whisper.

Soft, warm, full happiness filled Castiel. He wanted to push closer to Dean, to tuck under his chin and bury his face in Dean’s neck. To feel his skin beneath his lips. Castiel drew an unsteady breath. _No._ Dean did not want that. Touching him like that had turned into a mess the last time, and he would not repeat that awkward situation. Quietly, he murmured, “Goodnight, Dean.”

“’Night, Cas.” Dean swallowed, and his gaze flickered to Cas’s lips. But then he closed his eyes tight, and lay very still, as if willing himself to fall asleep right this moment.

When Cas’s breaths deepened, and when he felt himself teetering on the edge of slumber, he felt Dean’s arm come around him, too, and felt Dean’s soft breaths move closer, puffing gently on his cheek. And Castiel slid into very sweet dreams.

*****

Castiel woke up with his arms empty, and the sun streaming in through the window. Dean wasn’t in the room, and he wondered what time it was. It looked like midmorning. He’d overslept. The Winchesters would need to vacate the cabin soon.

He got up and quickly dressed and made the bed. Dean’s bed looked a little too neat; maybe because he’d never slept in it. John would certainly not approve if he suspected Dean had spent the night in Castiel’s bed. So Cas tweaked at the quilt and pillow, making them look just a little messy. On his way back to his bed, he tripped over Dean’s open backpack, and the golden apple rolled out.

“Cas...” Dean entered the room at the same time Castiel grabbed the golden, shimmering orb, meaning to place it back inside the bag. An unexpected shock ripped through Castiel, sizzling up his arm, making him taste copper and a thick, heavy sort of metal. His body jerked rigid.

Dean’s shoulder knocked hard into him, shoving him sideways, onto the floor, breaking the sizzling connection with the apple. Stunned, Castiel just sat there.

“Are you okay? Cas!” Dean’s fingers on his jaw urged him to look up.

“I...I’m fine.” The buzz in his body felt strange.

“Are you sure? It could have _killed_ _you!_ ”

“I’m fine.” Castiel struggled to his feet. “I was stupid, touching the apple. I didn’t think...” He swayed, and Dean gripped his arms for support.

“Cas, _look_ at me.”

“’m fine. Honest.” He managed a weak, shaky smile.

Dean’s hand cupped the back of Castiel’s neck, and pulled him closer. “Cas… _My God,_ ” anguish roughened his voice. “Don’t _do_ this to me again. I can’t handle it.”

They were so close that Castiel could count the constellation of freckles on his friend’s nose. Dean’s gaze fell to his mouth, and Castiel saw tormented, naked yearning there, just as he felt it coiling in the pit of his stomach. An eternal moment passed. Dean leaned a little closer, and his breath feathered across Cas’s lips.

_Dean was going to kiss him._

Heat unfurled in Castiel, like a summer flower about to blossom. He wanted this. Wanted Dean’s kiss. _Wanted_ to feel his caress. Cas leaned forward the tiniest bit, aching for it. Only millimeters separated their lips now. Hot feelings welled up in him that he could not explain, filling him to overflowing; so hot and so high he felt he might explode from the want.

The door slammed open and Sam burst into room.  

“Hey! Guys — ”

Castiel and Dean spun away from each other. Cas blindly stumbled to his bed, his back to the brothers. His whole body trembled and ached in new ways; ways he’d never felt before. He felt lost and bewildered, drowning in a storm of emotions.

A small pause. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Dean sounded strained.

“But…”

“Now is not the time, Sammy.”

The door closed with a thump.

Castiel struggled to make sense of what was happening to him. His aroused body was hard. It ached with want; with the desire to be touched. For _Dean_ to touch him. Was this what wanting someone meant?

Never before had Cas desired anyone, or been drawn to anyone in that way. But he _loved_ _Dean_. And the thought of Dean touching him, loving him, did things to him inside that he couldn’t explain. Wonderful, terrifying, overwhelming things. Things he couldn’t name or articulate, but wanted, so desperately. His face felt hot, and he trembled hard.

A glance outside showed a clear day. He was surprised a storm hadn’t blown up, but what storm could mirror the joy and terrified panic battling in his heart? If anything, the sun shone brighter, and the sky looked a deeper, more vibrant blue than he’d ever seen it before. Castiel felt more alive than he’d ever felt before.

But he didn’t think this could be good. He didn’t think this could be good at all. Dean would not want Castiel to feel what he was feeling. Because... Was this what being gay meant?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castalian Springs and Castalia:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castalian_Spring  
> http://www.greekmythology.com/Books/Mythological-Characters/Mythological-Characters.html  
> http://www.theoi.com/Nymphe/NympheKastalia.html  
> http://www.mythindex.com/greek-mythology/N/Nymphae.html  
> Delphic Oracle and Omphalos Stone:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Omphalos  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pythia  
> http://www.pbs.org/empires/thegreeks/background/7_p1.html  
> http://www.calvin.edu/academic/clas/pathways/delphi/dora.htm  
> http://www.nytimes.com/2002/03/19/science/for-delphic-oracle-fumes-and-visions.html


	56. Chapter 56

Dean found his hands were shaking when he closed the door on Sam’s surprised face. He’d definitely have some ’splaining to do later. But for now, he could barely explain what had happened to himself.

Cas, stood with his back to him, his shoulders visibly trembling. And Dean was going to leave him hanging. As much as he’d wanted to kiss Cas... _still_ wanted to kiss Cas, which completely terrified him...maybe it wasn’t the best idea. A few moments ago, his brain had been shorted out with fear, faced with the stark panic of losing Castiel forever. Terror had clawed at his gut, seeing Cas’s body go rigid as the deadly, magical current charged into his body.

Dean’s palms sweated now, just thinking about it. Reliving it. Realizing how close to death Cas had come. He took a steadying breath.

Yes, he’d wanted to kiss Cas. And if he was honest, he still wanted to kiss him, and not only that, but to pull him into his arms and make sure he was all right.

What should he do?

He didn’t want to ruin things between them if he was confused. And he was. Deeply. What’s more, they’d soon separate for another long year. Now wasn’t the time to start something new.

Dean needed desperately to screw his head on straight regarding his friend. Cas meant too much to him to treat this lightly—to treat _him_ lightly.

“Cas?”

Castiel shoved clothes into his duffel bag. “Yes, Dean?” His voice sounded scratchy and husky. It rammed and twisted inside Dean’s belly, and melted through him like sweet, hot lava.

Okay. This wasn’t working so well. He said gruffly, “We need to talk.”

“No, Dean. I think it’s best if we don’t.” Cas finally turned, and his blazing eyes seared into Dean with the force of the hottest blue flame. “I understand how you feel, and I need to go.”

Dean gripped his arm, stopping him when he tried to access the doorway. “You _don’t_ understand how I feel.”

The two stared at each other for a long time, saying nothing. Words fisted in Dean’s throat, battling to get out, but they failed.

Castiel gently extricated his wrist. “I’ll see you next year.”

“No,” Dean blurted. “Stay for breakfast.”

Those intensely blue eyes held his for another moment. “All right, Dean.”

Cas quietly ate his breakfast, and Dean continued to find himself tongue-tied. Complex, overwhelming emotions gripped his heart, and choked his thoughts. He didn’t want Cas to leave. That was the only thing he _did_ know.

Sam cast them a few strange looks, which morphed into concern when Dean and Cas continued to eat silently. John’s monologue about road conditions and the weather filled the silence. John also targeted Dean and Cas with hard looks, but he did not comment on the awkward silence. Clearly, he didn’t want to open up that can of worms, and probably wanted Cas to go. The sooner, the better.

“I’ll wash up,” John said, the moment breakfast finished. “I know you have to get home, Castiel.  Have a good year.”

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester. I hope you have a good year as well, Sam.”

“’Bye, Cas.” Now Sam just looked plain confused.

Dean and Cas left the others to the dishes and headed outside, and through the woods, to the laurel trees. It seemed like Cas was walking a little fast, and it bugged Dean. Finally, Dean stopped a good two yards from the trees. Reluctantly, it seemed, Castiel turned to face him.

“This feels like deja vu, Cas,” he said roughly. “Cold shoulder and everything. You can’t leave fast enough, can you?”

“What do you want me to say? I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I will not push you in directions you do not want to go.”

“Are you forgetting that _I’m_ the one who almost kissed _you?_ ”

Castiel’s head jerked back, as if surprised Dean would baldly broach the subject. “I know you regret it. I know you did not intend for things...”

“Yes, I did.”

Castiel glanced at his feet, visibly searching for the right words to say.

Dean helped him out. “I’m as confused as _hell_. But I wanted to kiss you, Cas. Part of me still does.” Helplessly, he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what to say. My head is a screwed up mess. This year, I’m going to figure things out.”

“No, Dean,” Castiel said firmly, looking up at last. “You have nothing to figure out. You like women.” He swallowed. “You should be with women. Do normal guy things. Be who you are. Forget about me. Please.”

“I can’t do...”

“Please, Dean. I don’t want to wreck your life. Please go. Be yourself. Be happy. I’ll do likewise.”

“This isn’t over.” Castiel was obviously pushing Dean away, for his own good. It was as self-sacrificing as all hell, but Dean wasn’t buying it. He saw the pain in Castiel’s eyes, saw the hurt he was trying so hard to hide. “Cas,” he said gruffly. He stepped forward and pulled his friend tightly into his arms.

Castiel went willingly, and his arms closed warm and tight around Dean, too. Dean muttered into his soft dark hair, “Be careful. Those Rowleys will be pissed about the apple. I’ll put it in a bank here in town for safe keeping.”

Cas nodded. “You be careful too, Dean.”

His arms tightened. “I’ll _miss_ you, Cas.”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

Dean felt Cas’s head turn, felt his nose bury into the short hair behind Dean’s ear. Felt his warm, gentle breaths. Were Cas’s lips pressing into his skin? Dean felt an ache of want pool liquid heat in the lower part of body. His hands fisted into Cas’s tee. Words left his lips, as natural as breathing, and spilled from his heart. “I _love_ you, Cas.”

Cas’s arms tightened. “I love you, too, Dean.” But he stepped back and released Dean, who immediately felt the loss. He couldn’t read Castiel’s conflicted, _lost_ expression. “I’ll see you next year.” He turned and headed through the laurel trees.

“ _Cas_.” Pain ached in that one syllable.

But Castiel did not turn back, and Dean was left with an empty, aching hole in his chest. A hole the size of Cas.


	57. Chapter 57

At home, Castiel closed the door and with trembling hands carefully set down his duffel. A violent maelstrom of emotion overwhelmed him, fighting, ripping at his insides. It clawed under his skin, made his shoulders feel twitchy and agitated. Made him want to run a marathon, a mountain. To scream his joy and his grief and his hurt to the skies. _Why_ did he have to feel this way. _Why?_

Castiel didn’t want it. He didn’t want to feel this way, and yet he did. His hands shook from the force and violence of it all. It felt like love was exploding in his heart and mind. He needed to _do_ something. He needed to do something with his hands.

His gaze fell on the large sketchbook, and on the pots of paint the Purcivals had given him last year.

Castiel strode across the room and roughly tore out a page, and next scattered the pots of paint on the table. His fingers dug into the cool wet blue paint, and then the green, and smeared them together on the paper. Orange followed. And red and white. It took a little while, but Castiel quickly learned how the paint slid against the page, across his fingers. How the colors melded together. How to achieve globs and streaks; the raw, visceral effects he wished to achieve.

Something foreign and powerful welled up inside him. Something he could not name. Quickly, he tore off a new piece of paper and rinsed the paint from his hands. He grabbed a bowl, filled it with water, and placed it on the table too, along with the paper and paint. And then he started again. He dug up great blobs of paint and smeared them with stark precision across the page.

He slashed blues, greens and browns on the paper. He took the time to mix the perfect flesh tone in a bowl, and smeared it on next to suggest the arch of cheekbones. The effect was raw, and stark. He finished one page and quickly started another, driven by his heart, and passion, and a skill that flowed through him as naturally as the sun rose in the sky and the rain nourished the earth.

Fluid, breathing images emerged. Dean: His body, when lying cold in bed after the enchantment last summer. The raw power and bleeding fury when he’d smashed a club into the lion’s head, trying to protect Castiel. The look in his eyes when he’d almost kissed Cas.

Each one emerged, brilliantly mesmerizing. Alive.

Castiel painted out his feelings for Dean until pictures covered the floor, vibrant with energy and power. _And love._

He fell into bed exhausted that evening. The time had escaped him in a flurry of light and shadow, and with two quick trips to the barn to tend the animals.  He’d tacked the pictures to the wall before falling into bed. With all of the images on the wall, it felt like Dean was in the room with him.

 _Dean._ Tears finally slipped down his face, as he at last acknowledged the truth.

_He was in love with Dean._

To use one of Dean’s favorite words, he was totally and completely _screwed_. Broken, harsh sobs overtook him, and Castiel cried himself to sleep.


	58. Chapter 58

Dean managed to escape the reckoning with Sam until a few days after they’d left the cabin. John had left on a pizza run when Dean exited from the bathroom, his hair damp from his shower.

Sam stood over Dean as he shoved dirty clothes in his duffel. The kid practically breathed intent. 

“Sammy...” he growled.

“I’ve given you plenty of time and space, Dean. And I haven’t told Dad. Tell me what’s going on between you and Cas.”

“ _Nothing._ ” Dean’s knee jerk reaction, as usual, was to deny everything.  He jammed his dirty socks into the bag.

A small silence elapsed. “You know, it would be okay if...”

“Nothing is going on!”

Softly, Sam said, “I think we both know that’s not quite true.”

Dean crumpled onto the bed. He couldn’t even explain to himself what was going on. How could he explain it to Sammy?

Awkwardly, Sam said, “Have you kissed Cas before, or...?”

“ _No._ ”

“So I _did_ interrupt something, then.”

Dean put his head in his hands. “Sam...”

“ _Aha,_ ” Sam sounded delightfully enlightened. “So you _didn’t_ really sleep with all those girls last year!”

Dean did not reply.

“Dean. This is serious.”

“I am not gay, Sammy!” Was he?

“No. But maybe bisexual. Have you thought of that? Or maybe Casexual.”

Dean heard the smile in his brother’s voice, but did not respond. Sam might think this was funny, but he did not. He was so confused.

A long silence elapsed.

“Dean, be straight with me.”

Finally, Dean laughed a little, and scrubbed his fingers hard through his short hair. “All right, Sammy. I’ll tell you the truth.” He paused for a moment, trying to articulate his deepest, most complex, bewildering feelings. “I _love_ Cas. It’s like he’s a part of me. I can’t explain it. It just _is._ ”

“Then why are you trying to deny your feelings?”

“Loving someone does not mean you want to have sex with them.”

“Do you? Want to have sex... No, scratch that. Do you want to _make love_ to Cas?”

The words “make love” hit him a lot harder than the word “sex.” But the thought of either made Dean’s cheeks flush hot. “I _won’t_ think about that, Sammy. I won’t.”

“What _will_ you think about, then? You were breathing each other’s air, Dean. You were a millisecond away from kissing him. Exactly how close do you want to be to him?”

Dean’s mind flashed to the last night he had Cas had spent together. He wanted to experience it again. He wanted, desperately, to hold Cas in his arms all night long. Wanted it every night, forever. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to be honest with me. But please, be honest with yourself.”

Dean muttered, “I’ll work it out. Don’t worry.”

“You’re my brother. I want you to be happy.” John’s key rattled in the lock, and Sam hurriedly finished. “Don’t worry about what Dad thinks. I like Cas a lot. He’s totally cool. And I’m on your side, no matter what.”

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean finally looked up. Concern and compassion warmed Sam’s eyes, and a smile finally twitched his lips when Dean smiled at him. “No more chick flick moments. I’m starving.”

“Good thing,” John said, slamming the door behind him, carrying two large pizza boxes, “because I’ve brought enough for an army.”

Dean wondered what Cas was eating for dinner tonight. And he mentally marked another day off the calendar. Three hundred and forty-seven to go.


	59. Chapter 59

Year 2020

 

Ty appeared to have permanently vanished, but Echna returned to Delphoi in late August. No one tried to arrest her, since she had not technically kidnapped Ana. Castiel did his best to avoid Echna, but crossing paths was inevitable, as he still needed to carry buckets and buckets of well water to the shop, not to mention harvest vegetables for Echna to sell.

Despite his intense desire to avoid her, a few days after she returned, Castiel paid her a visit.

“Echna.” His voice stopped the old woman as she trudged down the path between her house and the shop.

She turned to him, and the vicious hatred in her eyes made his steps falter. “ _Castiel._ ”

“We need to talk.”

Her mouth contorted into a snarl. Ugliness darkened her eyes to black. “Step away from me, if you know what is best for you, Castiel.” Her body trembled with rage.

Castiel didn’t want to speak to her at all. He had one message to deliver, and that was it. “You’ve hurt the people I love. If you do it again, I will not work for you any longer. That means no more healing water. No more gold for you, either. And I know you need it to finance your project to unite the Sphere.”

Echna blinked. “What do you know of the _Sphere?_ ” she hissed.

“You want to unite the universes. Why, I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure you want to escape this world, and find another one. Maybe one where you’ll be more powerful than you are here.”

“You know _nothing._ ”

Castiel decided to push the conversation further, in an effort to prod more information out of her. “For a dragon who was once considered the ‘Mother of all Monsters,’ it must be hard for you to live on a humble farm. And to rely on me to provide income for you. You need me, Echna, to achieve your goals. Isn’t that right?”

Echna bared her teeth at him. If she truly was a serpent dragon, as she had been in old Greek mythology, Castiel imagined her tongue would currently be forking at him.

“I have _let_ you live, Castiel. I could have _killed_ you as a baby.”

“Why didn’t you?

She didn’t answer.

“Because you need me. You need the water. But I’m telling you right now, if you try to harm Ana, or her family, or James, or any of the others in the village, the water stops. Forever.” Castiel wanted to stop working for Echna right now. But the healing water was the only leverage he could hold over the old woman. It was the only thing she wanted. He could provide the most important things she desired: a continuous flow of income, and the water, for whatever additional purposes she might want it for.

Echan’s teeth bared again, and audible hiss escaped from her lips.

“It’s simple,” he said. “What do you say?”

“You are a _foolish_ boy, Castiel!”

He just looked at her.

“You could have _everything_.” Her arms flung wide, as if encompassing heaven. “Everything! But you are too stupid and ignorant to use your power.”

“What power?” Did she mean his power to create storms? If so, she likely meant he should use it to hurt and manipulate others.

Those unholy amber eyes bored into him. She cackled. “You are the answer to everything, Castiel. You could save this half-world from destruction— _from me_ —if only you knew it.”

“What do you mean? How?”

She laughed. “As if I’d tell you! Good is weak. It’s soft. It’s sappy. Power is the only thing that interests me. And so Ty and I must triumph.” She peered at him. “You have power, boy. If you let me harness it, I could set you free. I could set Ana free. I could set everyone you _love_ free.”

Castiel blinked. He wasn’t sure what Echna’s definition of “free” might be. But he’d be willing to bet it wasn’t good.

Echna inched a little closer. “Don’t you want that, Castiel? Don’t you want to be with your lover forever?”

He blushed, even though he didn’t completely know what the term “lover” meant. He had vague notions, from his experiences on the dance floor, and he knew what the act of sex meant. But besides a few half-formed ideas, he didn’t fully understand what it meant. “Dean is not... He’s my friend.”

She smiled, and it looked a little sick and creepy. “If you help me—if you help me open the sphere, and kill this world so it implodes on itself, and sets us _all_ free to live true, real lives—I will help y...”

“You want to _destroy this world?_ ”

“You are missing the point. I will help you gain your dearest desire.”

“Dean’s happiness, and the happiness of everyone I love are the _only_ things I want.” Castiel’s heart pounded. He could not believe what he was hearing. Echna wanted to destroy their world?

She laughed. “You helpless, _stupid_ boy.” She shook her head and laughed again. “Fine! be the brave, self-sacrificing, _ignorant_ boy that you are. But the offer remains open, if you change your mind.”

The woman was insane. Feeling a bit panicked, Castiel decided to pry as much information out of her as possible. Direct questions probably would not work. “What would I have to do?”

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s simple. Sacrifice your boyfriend on my gold altar. Then finally, _finally,_ the Sphere will reunite. All the worlds will collapse into one. And with Dean at the nucleus of the Sphere, he will... Well, he’ll _most likely_ come back to life, immortal.”

Castiel gasped. “You are _insane._ ” Was this her plan? To kill Dean to unite the Sphere? He felt sick to his stomach with horror.

Echna smiled at him. “No? Not surprised, you wimpy, _stupid_ boy. But the end will come. Mark my words.”

Forcefully, he said, “Stay _away_ from the people I love.”

With a laugh, she headed back to the shop. “I don’t need to harm them. And I will not, unless you make me. The path is set. I have all the ingredients I need... Except for Dean, of course. And the apple of immortality. You will return the apple to me on Midsummer’s Eve. And you will bring Dean to me, too. If you do not, I will kill _everyone_ you hold dear. That is my promise to you. Peace until then. On Midsummer’s Eve, _you_ will make the choice. Save your friends, or save your boyfriend.” She slammed the door shut behind her.

Castiel felt shaken. Of course he would never give Dean to Echna. Echna was insane. And her statement that Dean would come back to life after being killed was a lie so ludicrous he was surprised she’d had the audacity to say it. Even worse, she believed she possessed all of the ingredients necessary to force the Sphere. To create the Philosopher’s Stone. To collapse this—what did she call it?—half-world, and unite all of the universes. Clearly, she desperately wanted to escape this half-world. Half-life? Was that why all of her children were shadowy monsters? Half real. Half not.

Was _he_ half real, too? And what about the others in Delphoi? Castiel remembered that James thought he’d been transplanted here from somewhere else—for a purpose, although he didn’t remember that purpose. James certainly didn’t seem half real. And Castiel didn’t feel half real, either. In fact, no one in Delphoi, except for the Greek monsters, seemed half real.

Perhaps Ty and Echna’s ancient powers were half potent here, which probably frustrated them no end. And their shadowy children they’d raised from Hades were half real.

Maybe Castiel’s half-world was a mixed bag “holding area” for creatures who did not belong in the real world. After all, the rulers of Castalia’s universe had banished both Ana and him here because they were the fruit of a forbidden love match. Perhaps here, in this half-world, the cosmos dumped creatures like Ty and Echna, who did not belong in the real world. And half-breeds, too, as well the unwanted and forbidden. And perhaps their descendents, as well, for most of the citizens of Delphoi were ordinary people.

James. James might know more. And Castiel needed to explore the cave. He had to stop Echna’s plans before it was too late.


	60. Chapter 60

Castiel visited James a little later that week, and told him everything Echna had told him. He also related the Greek mythology facts that Dean and Sam had uncovered, and told him Ty and Echna’s true identities. He topped it off with their theories about the Philosopher’s Stone and the Sphere.

James absorbed the information with delight. “I want to visit that cave. Right now.” He grabbed a walking staff. After they collected torches and weapons, they hiked up through the woods to the cave located above the spring. _The Castalian Spring?_ Castiel wondered.

Staff in hand, James eyed the mouth of the cave, and sniffed the faint, sweet scent. “Fascinating. You think Echna’s lair is inside?”

“It makes sense.” Castiel adjusted the bow and arrows on his back. He’d had little time to practice, but if Echna threatened them, he’d be ready. Only an arrow would kill her—Apollo’s arrow. And while Cas didn’t think he was meant to play the part of Apollo, he’d be ready to kill Echna, if necessary. He lit the torches, and the two men ventured inside.

“Why don’t we just kill her now?” James asked.

“Good question. Dean thinks we should. But Ty’s still out there. He loves Echna, and I think if we killed her, he would come back with a vengeance. He could destroy Delphoi.”

“Then we’d kill him, too.”

“I don’t think it will be that easy. And we’d need help. I don’t think I can do it alone.”

The old man nodded. “You need Dean. I agree. So, it sounds like the old woman wants this whole thing to go down next Midsummer’s Eve.”

“It won’t.”

“How will you stop it? Didn’t Echna threaten to kill everyone?”

“Dean may come late that day. He may not be able to get the apple in time. Besides that, I need to talk to him first, before we attack Echna and Ty. We need to make a plan.” Castiel flashed his torch against the walls of the long passageway. “I’ll offer her a deal. The golden apple, in exchange for the showdown to take place in two years.”

“Think she’ll go for it?”

“She will, if she wants the apple. I’ll make it clear I can’t get the apple in time for next summer.”

“Makes sense. Just so you know, when this shakedown happens, I want to be there.”

“James...”

“Yeah, yeah. I know it’ll be dangerous. But what else do I have to live for? I’m an old man. My time is coming, sooner rather than later. If I die, I’d rather it be in a fight to save the world. To save the _worlds_.”

“Echna called our world a half-world. What do you think about that? Do you think it’s true? Do you think _we’re_ half real?”

“Yes, to the half-world. No to the half real—at least not you, Castiel. And not most of the people living here, either. However, I _do_ think I think I’m half real. My mind is still only half here, Castiel. I’ve wondered why for a long time. But now I think it’s because another part of me is...  Well, I think it’s living in another world. Does that make sense?”

“You think you’re alive in another world, at the same time you’re alive in this one?” 

“Yes. At night, I have strange dreams. I thought they were just that, _dreams,_ but as my memory is gradually getting clearer, I’ve realized they’re not dreams. I _am_ living in another world. But I’ve come here for a purpose.”

“Why? And which world is more real?”

“I don’t know. Both? I’ve tried hard, but I can’t figure out where my other world exists. Or _when_. But I do know I’m a professor there. And while living there, I figured out something out about _this_ world. Something vital. So I found a way to come here.”

James walked silently for a minute, shuffling through the pebbled corridor. “My brain has been foggy for a long time, Castiel. My other life and this life both seem so _fuzzy_. But as I’ve slipped in and out of consciousness over the years, and after drinking your well water—which helps—things have slowly grown sharper and clearer. I’m here for a reason, whatever that might be. And I’m sure that you, Castiel, are a part of that reason. I’m certain you’re here for a reason, too. Ana, too. _All_ of this is happening for a purpose.”

“To stop evil? To stop the worlds from imploding?”

“Yes. Exactly. Many religious texts speak of an apocalypse, or the end of the world, but I think this Sphere induced apocalypse is not the right one. It must be stopped, so other worlds can go on as they must. As they should.”

“So you think Ty and Echna are trying to change time and space? To force the apocalypse? To force the Sphere?”

“Yes. And it’s not their place. They belong in Hades, but clearly, they escaped. We need to make certain they return.”

“If we kill them, how can we be sure they’ll stay in Hades? Especially if Cerberus let them out in the first place.”

“I don’t know. Maybe Hades needs a new gatekeeper. Or maybe they tricked Cerberus into letting them out. Or drugged him. Who knows. Whatever the case, This world is the halfway point between Hades and Dean’s real world. Ty and Echna are trapped here, and they’re trying to get out. They might even be jealous of you, Castiel, because you _can_ get out. Clearly, they cannot pass through your laurel trees.”

“I wonder if Hades wants them back.”

“Interesting thought. Probably so. If Cerberus was tricked, he might even champion our cause.”

That was an interesting idea, to think that one of Ty and Echna’s children might be on their side; that Cerberus might want to imprison Ty and Echna back in Hades. Of course, he and Dean would need to kill the two monsters first, in order to return them to Hades’ underworld.

They’d passed the large cavern where Ladon had held Ana hostage, and now walked down a narrow corridor, deeper into the heart of the cave. The vapor smelled sweeter here. Water dripped from the ceiling and rolled downhill. They hiked deeper under the earth. Castiel had a unerring sense of magnetic north. And as they followed the passage’s twists and turns, he realized with surprise that they were heading in the direction of the laurel trees.

Finally, up ahead, their torches illuminated a widening of the walls. And then the passageway abruptly ended. So did the path beneath their feet. Castiel stopped sharply, and shot out an arm to prevent James from stepping over the ledge.

Fifteen feet or more below them stretched a huge cave. Neither Echna nor Ty were inside. Natural light from an unseen source above streamed into the cavern. A deep crack bisected the floor, and in the center sat a large round, egg-shaped stone. Plumes of white vapor rose with a hiss from the crack and wafted upward, as if drawn by a draft; perhaps drawn up through the opening that let in the light. But directly below their feet a smaller crack emitted vapor, too. These smaller clouds of mist rose and drifted directly down their hallway.

“We probably should hurry,” James muttered. “The gas is making me dizzy.”

“There’s a ladder. Look. Directly below this path.” Castile grabbed onto a firmly imbedded rock and turned around, extending his foot backward to find the first rung. A shock, like a sharp hand clap, surged through him, and he tumbled forward, into the passage. James grabbed his arms and pulled him away from the invisible force field.

“You okay, son?” Worry wrinkled James’ grizzled brow.

“Yes.” Castiel scrambled to his feet, glad his thick work boots had absorbed most of the shock. He was also grateful the magical field wasn’t as malignant as the enchanted apple.

James picked up a stone and tossed it toward the cavern’s entrance. Yellow sparks flashed, and it exploded into dust. “Echna’s put a protection spell on this place,” he deduced. “The vapor can get out, but nothing can get in.”

“Except for Echna.” Castiel moved toward the opening and cautiously leaned forward, looking up, trying to see the cave’s ceiling. “There must be an opening above the cave, letting in the light. Maybe we could get in that way. I still have the rope Dean left behind.”

“What’s the point, unless you want to climb down and destroy her work? Do you? Because from here, we can see everything she’s up to.”

Castiel surveyed the cave floor again. Somehow, Echna and Ty had maneuvered their two tables down into the cavern. Glass tubes, arranged in rows in metal racks, covered one. Various pots covered another. The gold lump, or _altar_ , as Echna had called it with macabre relish, lay near a fire pit beside the Omphalos stone. Clearly, the egg-shaped thing was the Omphalos stone, for it looked just like Sam’s description. And it was the spot where Apollo would kill Echna. Castiel tightened his grip on the bow, and wondered if he was Apollo, or if Dean was. But he knew. Yes. He knew. And James was right. They’d discovered all they could for one day.

They headed back to Athina.

“Be careful, Castiel,” James admonished him, standing in the doorway to his hut. His sagging shoulders make him look old and tired. “For now, play Echna’s game. Maybe wait to negotiate until just before Midsummer’s Eve.”

“Yes. It will keep everyone safe for longer if I do,” Castiel agreed. “Thank you, James.”

“No problem. And stay safe. I know you’ll find that draft hole, but I strongly recommend you stay out of the cave. Don’t go anywhere alone.”

“You sound like Dean.”

“He’s a wise man. And he loves you. Listen to him.”

Castiel glanced quickly at James, but the older man’s knowing look said little escaped him. Castiel nodded, and headed home. He had a lot to think about.


	61. Chapter 61

Demons kept the Winchesters busy that year. Rumors bubbled of escape plans from Hell, and of other, alternate escape hatches from their doom to an eternity of damnation.

The Winchesters killed a lot of demons. Sam occasionally helped out, but John usually wanted to keep him safe from the demons. It had to do with Sam’s childhood, their mother’s death, and John’s determination to kill one particular demon. Which he repeatedly failed to do. He didn’t seem to worry about Dean’s safety when he accompanied his father on the deadly hunts, however.

Dean did his job with swift, fearless skill, and he did his best to protect Sammy, too, when he came along. Personally, Dean didn’t want his kid brother exposed to demons, period. He didn’t want Sam to come on _any_ of the hunts. John, however, insisted that Sam needed to get his feet wet. He needed to know how to protect himself, and he needed to learn how to become a hunter.

Sam muttered that he didn’t want to become a hunter. The kid was super smart, and he wanted to be a lawyer, or a doctor, and Dean wanted the best for him. Hunting was shitty. And if a perk wasn’t saving people’s lives, Dean would quit. Even if it made his father angry.

And Dean wanted to please his father. Always. He didn’t know why, but he desperately craved the man’s approval. Unfortunately, he fell short in so many ways. Even when they had a successful hunt, John would point out ways Dean could have done things better. While Dean did know he could improve, he longed for a scrap of praise—for anything positive from his enigmatic father.

And, like always, John frequently left him and Sam behind at Bobby’s when he took off on a road trip, hell bent on tracking down that elusive demon. The one that had killed their mother. Dean wanted to help kill the son of a bitch, too, but John refused to let him be a part of that quest. Whether it was because he didn’t trust Dean to know how to handle himself around the demon, or because he didn’t want Dean hurt, Dean didn’t know. But he suspected the first.

It wasn’t all about hunting that year. And even in those other areas of his life, Dean felt pressure from John. It all came to a head at Christmas, when John learned that Dean had done little for fun, outside of working on cars during a recent stint at Bobby’s.

John frowned, and cornered him in the living room one day.

“Bobby tells me you’re not dating. Why?”

Dean gritted his teeth. “My love life is none of your business, Dad.”

“Really? I care about you, and you’re worrying me.”

Something thick and ugly ached in Dean’s throat. He knew where this conversation was going, and he _did not want it._

“Dean.” John’s dark gaze bored into his. “Are you pining over that boy?”

“Don’t _talk_ about Cas like that,” he said tersely. “And I’m not _pining_ over him.”

Across the room, huddled on the couch with his laptop, Sam shot him a slightly pitying look. Whether it was because Dean insisted on denying the truth, or because Sam felt sorry for him in his misery, Dean wasn’t sure.

“Then get out,” John said, waving at the door. “ _Go_ somewhere. Have fun.”

“Where? I’m nineteen.”

“I know you have a fake ID. Go out. Live it up a little. Have fun.”

“Great. I have a father who’s encouraging underage drinking and skirt chasing.”

John smiled. “Every boy’s dream. Right?  Lots of kids would kill to have a father like me. I would have, at your age.”

Dean felt like shit. He wanted to swear at his father, but ingrained respect made him bite back the hard, angry words.

As usual, he wasn’t measuring up to John’s standards. The condemnation in his father’s eyes made that clear. And it would only get worse, unless he made an effort to redeem himself. Right now, John was, in a seemingly level-voiced, reasonable manner, trying to exert as much power over him as he could. To force Dean to conform to his expectations.

Dean’s balled fists trembled. His father _must_ hate him. Right now, he felt that more clearly than ever before. John didn’t care about him. John only wanted what _he_ wanted. Dean and Sam’s life, growing up—and now—was _always_ about what John wanted.  Always. Dean wanted so badly to please his father, but John didn’t seem to care about him, or what he wanted.

John was a selfish man. For the first time, Dean saw this very clearly, and that, combined with his desperate, hopeless feeling of failure, made him feel sick and furious right now.

Dean didn’t even know what he was doing until he strode for the door.

“Screw _you,_ Dad!” He slammed out the door, ran to Baby, and slid inside. The familiar scent of leather and Impala soothed him, and he pushed the key into the ignition. The door to the rental house remained shut. John didn’t bother to come outside to try to stop him, or to talk to him. He was letting him go. Was Dean such a disappointment to him? Did his father hate him that much?

Tears ached in Dean’s throat, but he angrily swallowed back the emotion and flipped on some rock, filling the car with noise. He pealed onto the road and drove, wind sliding through his hair, and tires screaming through town, barely stopping at the stop lights. He wanted to be free. To be alone. He needed to find somewhere peaceful and safe, where he could think.

Dean parked beneath a large maple tree in a rest stop just off the highway. The large tree shadowed the car, cocooning it from the people who wandered in and out of the well lit rest stop facilities. No one bothered him. No one cared that he existed.

But Castiel did. Cas loved him. Dean crossed his arms on the steering wheel and buried his head in them. He loved Cas. His feelings weren’t going away. He feared they would _never_ go away. Finally, tears broke free and dripped down his face. “God, I’m not a praying man, but tell me what to do.” His voice broke. “Tell me what to do about _Cas._ ”

Dean cried, his heart feeling empty and broken; lonely for the one person who could fill it up. Whom he loved, and who loved him back. “Oh _God,_ ” he wept. “Help me. Help me, _please._ ”

In the quiet of the car, his tears finally subsided, and he swiped his cheeks on the sleeves of his jacket. His feelings for Cas remained, as strong and as deep as ever. So what should he do? Part of him still balked at pursing a deeper, more intimate relationship with Cas. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d be failing his father’s expectations, or because of the expectations Dean had always painted of his own future: A wife, maybe kids someday. Was that what he wanted? What _did_ he want?

Dean wasn’t sure. But maybe, much as he didn’t want to admit it, John had a point. He did need to get his head on straight about Cas. And if part of him still clung to the idea of a future with the white picket fence, maybe he should pursue it. Maybe that desire would win. Maybe his feelings for Cas would go away. Maybe they’d vanish like his friend’s world, which shouldn’t even exist.

A long time later, Dean restarted the car. He’d made up his mind. He’d date. He’d throw himself into it. Really make John proud. And in the meantime, he’d find out the truth of what he really did want: Cas? Or the white picket fence every red-blooded American boy was programmed to desire?

Dean slowly drove back to the rental house. The lights were off. No one was awake. Dean was alone. As always, alone.

*****

Between hunts, as the months crawled by, Dean did date. It got easier over time. Dating did help to get Cas off his mind, especially when he immersed himself in the slightly seedy bar life, and when he flirted and tried out different pickup lines on girls. It was easy. But when it came down to actually having sex, Dean balked. Flirting felt like a game. A distraction. It was fun, and it didn’t feel quite real. But giving his body to one of the women who snuggled up to him in the bar?

Dean couldn’t do it. It felt too personal. Too intimate. He didn’t want anyone to touch his body like that, because his body felt inexplicably linked to his heart and soul now. In the past, it had meant little to bare his body and enjoy sex with various girls. Now he found he couldn’t. And honestly, it was because of Cas.  He felt he would be fundamentally betraying both himself and Cas if he did it. And he didn’t _want_ to do that. Sam would laugh his head off if he knew, but Dean desperately wanted to keep himself pure. For Cas.

Dean didn’t know what was happening in his very confused head, but until he figured that out, he would stick to meaningless, flirty dates, act like a gentleman, and never go for the second date. He’d tried a second date a couple of times, and the girls had always expected more than a kiss at the door. Being a gentleman apparently didn’t cut it past the first date. So he became a serial dater. Enjoyed it. Had fun. ...Meaningless, empty fun.

And John gradually relaxed and even clapped Dean on the shoulder one day when he came home with lipstick on his cheek and his shirt partially unbuttoned. He muttered, “I knew that was what you needed.”

Dean grinned until his jaw hurt. It was clear what his father expected of him. And it was not for his son to harbor any sort of feelings for his best friend.

However, things with lipstick girl had gone too far that night, and Dean felt dirty and wrong about it all. Honestly, he didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up. Serial dating wasn’t working out in the way that he’d expected—and even, in some corner of his mind, hoped—it might.

His heart still belonged to Cas. His soul still belonged to Cas. And his body refused to let him betray Cas.


	62. Chapter 62

In some ways, the year passed quickly for Castiel, and in others it slogged by as slowly as mud on a hot summer day. He longed for Dean. He also feared seeing him again. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to hide what he felt for his best friend. If he knew anything, he knew Dean was not comfortable with the idea of love between two guys. And Castiel would never, ever, push him in a direction that would hurt him.

He also dreaded the confrontation to come with Echna. She’d kept to her promise not to harm anyone he loved all year long, but he knew everything would change, once he told her he would not deliver the golden apple this year.

Castiel waited until the evening of June 19th to approach her. The blossoms on the laurel trees still hadn’t bloomed, but they would tomorrow. He waited until Echna left the shop that evening, and intercepted her on the path to the house. Ty had remained mysteriously absent all year, and while Cas was glad about that fact, he didn’t know when the “Father of all Monsters” would return.

“We need to talk,” he told Echna.

Her eyes slitted. “You promised me the apple. I’ve held up my end of the bargain. Now it is time for you to fulfill yours.”

“Thank you for keeping your word. However, I haven’t been able to speak to Dean yet this year. The laurel trees will not bloom until tomorrow. Which is Saturday. Unfortunately, Dean hid the apple in a bank. As you know, banks are not open on Saturdays. I won’t be able to deliver the apple to you after all.”

Her nostrils flared, and her fists clenched. “You tricked me!”

“Last year, I didn’t realize the twentieth would fall on a Saturday.” That was true enough.

“And next year, it will fall on a _Sunday!_ The bank will be closed _then,_ _too,_ ” she snarled.

“I’ll ask Dean to come early next year. He’ll take it out of the bank on Friday.”

“And why should I trust you? You lied to me this year. Why should next year be any different?”

“Dean and I want this to end. And so it _will_ end, next year.” _You_ will end. But he did not say that. His fists clenched, though. This nightmare that the Rowleys had inflicted upon his life, and which had ravaged ugly scars into his body and soul would end, finally and completely, next year. Somehow, he and Dean would send Echna back to Hades, and Castalia would set him free from the well, from this farm, and from the Rowleys, forever.

Echna’s eyes blazed like amber flames. “You will _pay,_ Castiel, for your deception. And so will _everyone_ you love.”

“Attack me, then. Not them. Everything is my fault. Not theirs.”

Echna’s body trembled, looking like a shriveled up twig, shivering in an invisible storm.  “ _You_ will pay, Castiel. That is for certain. You will not see it coming.”  She made to brush by him, but flinched when she came within the hagstone’s protective barrier. “You will _pay,_ ” she spat, and disappeared inside her house.

Echna could not physically hurt him. Therefore, it was clear she planned to make him pay by hurting the people he loved.

Castiel felt sick to his stomach. He ran down to the village to warn the Purcivals and the residents of Athina. Echna would probably soon unleash her last remaining monster child, Chimera, upon his loved ones. And so he first warned James and then the Purcivals of the threat. The Purcivals would warn the Delphoins of the danger, too.

He also explained that melted lead could kill the fire breathing Chimera beast. To defend themselves, the Athinan and Delphoin residents must drive lead into her throat by any means possible, whether that be lead bullets, or a lead tipped spear. Then her fiery breath would melt the lead, and she would suffocate to death. Castiel also showed everyone how to protect their homes with lines of salt, horseshoes, and the other things that protected his own home from the Rowleys.

“And stay inside until Sunday morning,” he urged. “Don’t come out, no matter what. If Echna is going to hurt you, it will be within the next two days. She’s desperate to force the Sphere. But when Midsummer’s Eve passes, she’ll have no choice but to wait until next year to try again.”

“What about the Chimera? It could still be on the loose on Sunday,” Harry said. He held Priscilla close, with an arm tight around her shoulders.

Eleven-year-old Ana stared up at Castiel with large eyes. “What about you, Cas? And Dean? Won’t the monster try to kill you, too?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll kill it first.”

Priscilla sputtered with laughter. “How can we _not_ worry? We love you, Castiel. And it feels like you and Dean are taking on this whole nightmare by yourselves. You’re trying to save our entire world, and you’re doing it alone.”

“I believe it’s meant to be this way,” Castiel said soberly. He turned to his sister. “Ana...if something happens to me, I’ve stockpiled water for you in the empty stall in the barn. Please ask Castalia to free you from the well on your birthday.”

“She won’t. I’ll only be twelve. Not seventeen.”

“Ask anyway. Please. And try to get more information from her about the Sphere, and how we’re supposed to defeat the Rowleys. Will you promise?”

“Of course I will.” She hugged him, her crystal blue eyes shining with hero worship. “I love you, Cas. I love Dean, too. I want you both to be happy. I’ll pray that God will keep you safe.”

He hugged her back, and gave Harry a hard, serious look. “You’ll stay inside until Sunday, right?”

“Yes. But if I hear a ruckus, I’m coming out with my lead spear.”

“James said the same thing. I hope you won’t. Please stay safe.” Castiel let his gaze linger on each beloved face of his adopted family. He was so lucky. And he loved them so much. He would do _anything_ to keep them safe. “I’ll see you on Sunday, when it’s all over.”

He let himself outside, and headed for the laurel trees. The blooms were still tightly furled shut. Then he retreated home and put his head in his hands. What did Echna have planned? Did she truly plan to unleash Chimera on the village tonight? Or would Ty come back and unleash his own brand of havoc? Maybe the end would come this year, after all.

What if he and Dean couldn’t stop it?

 _Dean._ His heart leaped and twisted painfully in his chest. Tomorrow, he would finally see Dean again.


	63. Chapter 63

Dean strode for the laurel trees in the early morning sunlight. His heart pounded. He couldn’t seem to calm it down. Soon, he’d finally see Cas again. It had been a very, very long year.

The laurel trees were only twenty feet ahead, and blooming in all their purple glory. Fifteen feet. Ten...

Castiel materialized out of nowhere, striding toward him, into his world.

“ _Cas._ ”

“Dean.” He always forgot how deep Cas’s voice was, like gravel wrapped up in velvet. He couldn’t seem to look his fill of his friend. Nothing had changed. Castiel still had that wild, dark sex hair, intensely blue eyes, and his mouth curved a little in a smile, which eased the frown between his brows. He was all tall, lean muscle and he wore a gray T-shirt and jeans.

“Cas,” he said again. Inanely.

Castiel stopped a few feet away and smiled more fully, as if amused. “Dean.”

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and licked his lips. He’d never felt more tongue-tied in his life. _Why?_ This was Cas.

Yes. This was Cas, the boy he’d pined over all year. The one who had stolen his heart, and the one his body and soul refused to betray.

He managed a weak grin. “How are ya?”

Cas tilted his head, still smiling, but he also looked a little confused. “I am fine, Dean. And you?”

“Come here.” Dean couldn’t help himself, and he held out his arms open wide. Castiel willingly went into them. His arms wrapped around Dean, holding him tight, and Dean finally, in that comfortable, familiar space, relaxed. This was Cas. Nothing had changed. He took several deep breaths, inhaling the scent that was purely Castiel...starlight and sunshine and a sweetness he couldn’t quite name. Reluctantly, he released him and glanced toward the laurel trees. “Ready to kill some monsters?”

“Not yet. I need to speak to you first, Dean.” The frown had returned. Cas looked worried.

He gestured to a fallen log nearby. “Want to sit?”

Castiel sat beside him on the log, his knee barely brushing Dean’s. “Echna wants to force the Sphere today. And she wants to kill you.” By the end of the story, Dean could barely believe his ears.

“She expects _you_ to sacrifice me on some gold altar?”

“She appears to think she’s found a way to make the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“And _why_ , exactly, would she think that? She’s been burning rat parts and cooking phlegm for years. Why does she suddenly think she’s found the key to the universe?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she wants to experiment more. With you. And me. And with whatever strange things she’s decided will create the Stone.”

“Well, she’s not getting that apple. Not now. Not ever.”

“Dean...”

“We’re killing that bitch right now. Today. We’ve waited long enough.”

“Ty and Chimera will...”

“I’ll stay until the job is done. Period.”

Castiel frowned. “But your family. Sam...”

“Cas.” Dean put a hand on his friend’s knee. He squeezed it gently and let go. “I’m not going anywhere. Your nightmare ends today. It’s gone on too long already. You, Ana...everyone has suffered enough.”

“You’re not safe. I will not let you come into my world without protection.”

Cas’s belligerently set jaw and protective tone made Dean smile. “Okay. Then dig up one of the hagstones under the laurel trees.”

Anxiety darkened his friend’s eyes. “Dean, Echna’s cave is probably located right under the trees. I found the vent about fifty yards west. If one tree is left unprotected, it might die. You might be trapped in my world forever.”

“Fine.” Dean gave a lopsided grin. “This once a year crap is getting hard to take.”

“Dean...”

“I’ve made up my mind. Get the stone, Cas. And I’ll get the apple.”

Castiel frowned in bewilderment. “But you just said...”

“Echna won’t get it. But it does belong in your world, and we’ll use it to get what we want. And, lucky for you, banks here _are_ open on Saturdays.” Dean grinned. “So. Meet back here in an hour?”

“Okay... I’ll wait for you here.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll be back soon.”


	64. Chapter 64

Castiel dug up the hagstone, and then carefully scattered leaves to cover the disturbed dirt. No need to let Echna know what he was up to. As he knelt, finishing up, a breeze kicked up the leaves, making them flutter across the ground. He stood and surveyed the cloudless blue sky. A brisk rush of wind shivered through the tree tops.

Where was the wind coming from? No clouds were in sight. The quietness of the day disturbed him. Where was the fire breathing Chimera? And where were Echna and Ty? He’d thought something terrible would be happening by now.

The wind whipped harder overhead, bending the topmost tree branches, but Castiel felt only a gentle puff of wind at ground level, where he stood.

The wind seemed unnatural. Again, no clouds were in sight. So what was causing the breeze?

Had Ty, the father of storm winds, returned?

Feeling uneasy, Castiel slipped back through the laurel tree gateway to wait for Dean. If it wasn’t for Ana and the others who’d be left at the Rowleys’ mercy, he’d wish he never had to return to his world again. He hated the idea of putting Dean in more danger. But at the same time, he did want to fight to protect his loved ones, and he wanted to bring lasting peace into his world, too. Maybe after that...in his deepest heart...he wanted to stay with Dean, in Dean’s world, forever.

He dug his toe in the dirt. Would he have killed his guardians years ago, if he’d known their true identities? Probably not. Dean was right. His heart had been too soft. But not any longer. He would never allow Echna or Ty to hurt Dean, or any of the others. _Never._ His fists clenched.

A shadow drifted across his sunny spot.

He glanced at the sky. One lone, dark cloud drifted overhead. He took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm his mind and his heart.

“Daydreaming?” Dean appeared, wearing a grin and a backpack. He also carried a bulging duffel bag.

Castiel exchanged the hagstone for the duffel bag. Dean slipped the protective charm around his neck.

“Did you tell your father and Sam your plans?”

“Told Sammy. Dad’s not there.”

Castiel didn’t feel good about this. “Dean, don’t you think...”

“Dad doesn’t give a crap what I do.” His eyes looked dark, and a little glittery, which meant something was bothering him. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say. He walked beside his friend into his world, where the wind felt a little stronger than before. The sun still shone clear and bright overhead, though, and still no clouds had appeared. Birds happily chirped in the trees; completely unaware that the Rowleys wanted to kill their entire universe today. 

It appeared all was not well in Dean’s world, either.

“What happened with your father?” he asked quietly.

Dean remained silent for a long time. Only when they entered Castiel’s home, and he slung his pack to the floor did he finally meet Castiel’s gaze. “Dad has his priorities. I have mine. End of story.”

“Something is wrong. It’s hurting you.”

“Yeah, well. Not much I can do about it. I tried all year to meet his expectations, and I failed. So that’s it. I’m done.” Dean pulled a sack out of his duffel. The round contours suggested the deadly, golden apple lay inside. “Have a safe place for this?”

Castiel carefully moved the bed, and lifted the board that lay beneath one of its legs. His chest of gold lay inside the cubby hole, but when he pushed the heavy box aside, it made enough room for the apple. Carefully, he nestled it next to the box, and moved the bed back to its original position.

When he gained his feet again, he discovered that Dean had crossed the room, and his fingers had lifted a few of the paintings lying on the table. Castiel had removed them from the walls last night, and he’d meant to put them in the trunk near the fireplace this morning. However, he’d forgotten about it in his haste to meet Dean this morning—to intercept him before he could cross over into Castiel’s dangerous world.

Dean lifted another paper, and then he went very still and stared at one which lay beneath the others.

Castiel’s heart jumped and fluttered wildly. “Um, Dean...” He quickly crossed the room. “That’s nothing. I just...”

Dean turned to him, his gaze incredulous. “ _This_ is nothing? Cas...”

Castiel glanced down, and his heart sank. It was just as he had feared. Dean had found the best, most intimate painting Castiel had done of Dean last summer—when he’d been about to kiss Castiel. The colors and raw emotion were just as vivid now as they had felt then.

Cas swallowed hard, and tried to reach for his paintings. “It’s like I said. They’re nothing...”

Dean batted his hand away and slowly, reverently lifted each of the remaining pictures. Castiel’s heart felt raw and exposed by the time Dean finished. “I...” he licked his lips. “I started painting,” he said lamely.

“You started painting _me._ ” Dean’s gaze held his, and Cas couldn’t read what he was thinking. Except he didn’t look mad. He looked...pleased.

Castiel shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah.”

Dean slowly flipped through the paintings again. “If we make it out of this alive, will you paint me again?” His eyes squinted a little, looking hopeful.

“I would like to,” he said softly.

“Good.” The papers fluttered down again. “But I pick the pose. Agreed?”

“We’ll see.” 

Dean grinned, and licked his lips. “Okay. How about we make plans to gank some sons of bitches?”

*****

“I don’t know how to find Chimera,” Castiel said.

“Then we’ll hunt her down,” Dean said grimly. “I brought another gun, and we’ll bring the bow and arrows. I found time to practice last year. I think I’m good enough to get the job done.”

“Echna is probably at the shop.” Although Cas wasn’t sure why, the idea of cold-bloodedly hunting down Echna still bothered him. What was _wrong_ with him? Clearly, she was an evil woman. They must kill her, or be killed.

“Then we’ll gank her first.” Dean checked their weapons, and made sure they each carried a lighter, salt, and the other odds and ends they might need. He also affixed a bottle of Castiel’s healing water to his belt. “Let’s go. Did you say the town is in lockdown?”

“Yes.”

Bow and arrow at the ready, Dean trotted down the hill in the strengthening, whipping breeze, and entered the shop. He pivoted back out after a quick survey. “Empty.”

The house, cellar, and courtyard were empty, too. Below them, the village lay unusually quiet for a Saturday morning. Wind scattered debris across the streets, and the garments on clotheslines whipped in the wind.

Castiel hoped everyone would stay in their homes, where it was safe. Uneasily, he glanced at the cloudless sky. “It’s too quiet.”

“What’s with this wind?” The harsh gusts rippled through Dean’s short hair, showing white bits of scalp. “I don’t see a storm coming.”

“I think Ty must have returned. Remember, he’s the father of storm winds.”

“Guess he doesn’t need an actual storm to make the wind now.”

Castiel surveyed the town, and the tree-topped hills that surrounded the Delphoin valley. His unease continued to grow. It felt like a hard knot in his gut. “I wonder where he is. And what he’s been up to all year.”

“I’m thinking he got back some of the power he had in ancient Greece.” Dean’s fingers tightened around the bow. “Let’s find Echna. Gank one monster at a time.”

“She’s probably in the cave.”

“Let’s go.”

They left the quiet town behind and swiftly climbed the forested hill. The wind grew stronger, buffeting Castiel’s body as they climbed. It felt as if strong, forceful hands repeatedly tried to shove him backwards. Finally, they reached the cave entrance. It felt like a relief to duck inside and escape from the physical assault.

The sweet vapor filled Castiel’s nose. “If we stay too long, it’ll make us feel lightheaded.”

“Then let’s get to it.” Dean strode ahead.

Their fast pace brought them quickly to the entrance of the subterranean cavern.

“Careful,” Castiel cautioned, gripping Dean’s arm. “There’s a force field.” He glanced down into the cave.  Echna stood beside a table, dripping liquid from a tube into a shallow bowl. Natural light streamed into the cave, illuminating most of it, although a lamp burned on the table nearest to Echna, too.

“What’s she doing?”

“I’m guessing those are tears. She harvested them when the tornado nearly destroyed Delphoi. She collected tears of despair, and tears of hope.”

“Weird. What would tears have to do with the Philosopher’s Stone?” muttered Dean. “I see a bucket of water down there, too. And look at that gold gurney.”

“What is a gurney?”

“Gurneys transport patients and dead bodies in a hospital. Look. It’s at the foot of the Omphalos stone.”

Now Castiel noticed the gold “gurney,” which was clearly the altar. Vapor rose, swirling over the structure, and very nearly obscuring it. The altar, a long, narrow, bed-like structure, was positioned next to the crack in the floor. A fire pit, filled with kindling, had been built at one end of the altar, and Castiel noted that twigs and branches stuck out beneath the raised altar, as well.

“So Echna plans to roast me alive.” Dean huffed out a short laugh. “I can’t _wait_ to gank that bitch.”

“Step back for a second,” Castiel warned. He tossed a small pebble to see if the magic force field still protected the cavern’s entrance. With a sharp, popping sound, it exploded into tiny, glowing fragments.

“Not good. You said there’s another entrance? Where the vapor escapes?”

Castiel nodded, and they retreated from the cave and again faced the howling wind. The violent gusts felt like giant, physical punches battering into Cas’s body now as they battled uphill and then headed east. It felt as if the wind didn’t want them to move forward. As if it was determined to protect the chimney of Echna’s cavern.

*****

The "chimney" was tucked into the rocky hillside, and stone outcroppings protected the chimney on three sides, which served to camouflage it from view until they were right on top of it. The wind blew so hard by the time they arrived that the sweet smelling vapor whipped away to nothing as soon as it drifted above the earth. Dean knelt beside the wide hole. It was easy to see Echna moving far below them. The “chimney” let in a wide stream of natural light.

To Castiel’s surprise and consternation, Dean threaded an arrow into the bow and aimed.

“You’re going to kill her _now?_ ”

“Yep.” Face hard with intent, Dean smoothly pulled back the string and released it. The arrow flew down, straight and true, toward Echna. Until it burst into flame, and exploded into a thousand pieces. “ _Damn_ _it!_ ”

Echna looked up and cackled. “Good try, boys. But maybe you should _watch your backs._ ”

Castiel spun. He saw nothing, at first. But then, above the treetops, a dark cloud rose from the south. From the direction of Delphoi.

Dean squinted. “That’s not a cloud. _It’s smoke._ ”

“A fire!” Fear galvanized Castiel, and he flew back down the hill. The northern wind blew the smoke south, away from them, which was why they hadn’t smelled it in the first place. But from size of the billowing cloud of smoke, it was a huge fire. And when he broke through the trees and saw the town clearly for the first time, he cried out in anguish.

Delphoi was on fire.


	65. Chapter 65

The buildings on the outer rim of Delphoi blazed like an inferno.

“Son of a _bitch!_ ” Dean snarled.

Beside him, Castiel looked horrified. And guilt stricken. “We left them alone. I told them to stay in their homes. Echna knew we’d come after her. And when we did...”

“This is _not_ your fault!”

“But it _is_.” Castiel clawed fingers through his hair. A low, harsh noise tore from his throat. “ _Ana_...”

“Cas!” Dean grabbed his shoulder, intending to steady him and offer comfort, but then he realized a shadow had fallen over the landscape. And it wasn’t from the smoke. Rain peppered down. It gradually poured harder and harder, until a deluge streamed down his face. It plastered Castiel’s dark hair against his head, and drenched his clothes.

Cas shuddered, still clutching his head and keening out harsh sobs.

“Cas!” He gripped his friend’s shoulder tighter. “Look! The fire.”

Castiel looked up, his blue eyes dazed. Rain poured down, smothering the flames consuming the blackened buildings of Delphoi.

“ _You’re_ doing this, Cas. Right now. You’re saving them.”

Castiel’s eyes widened, and his expression transformed from confused to tentative hope. To joy. “ _I’m_ doing this?” he whispered.

“Yeah, buddy.” Dean grinned at his best friend.

Cas glanced at the sky, which now roiled with black clouds. The wind continued to whip. “ _Ty._ He could turn this storm into a tornado.” Fear thickened his words.

“He hasn’t yet,” Dean said grimly. “We still have time to kill his daughter. And where there’s fire, I’m betting there’s the Chimera.” He gazed across the smoldering town, looking for fresh flames.

“Athina!” South of town, beyond the trees, smoke curled upward. Castiel took off at a sprint, and Dean followed close on his heels. As they flew by the Purcivals’ house, Dean noted their porch was gone, and so was part of their roof. But most of the house remained intact.

Cas was fast. Dean managed to match his speed, but by the time they’d flown by the bridge, he was breathing hard. Screams reached their ears, and they slowed down for a second to make a quick plan.

Cas’s chest barely showed the exertion. “Let’s circle north, through the woods. We’ll see what’s happening, and plan our attack.”

“Good idea.” Dean sprinted after Castiel. They wove through young trees and older growth until they paralleled the tiny settlement of Athina. The town now consisted of twelve buildings, with a short street bisecting the center. From their angle they couldn’t see down the street, but they could hear men’s shouts, women’s shrieks, and the sound of glass breaking. Dean also heard the heavy, panting roar of a demonic monster. Smoke curled above the far end of town.

A man—it sounded like James’ voice—shouted, “Show us your throat, monster!”

Cas unexpectedly darted out of the woods, pulling out his gun at the same time. He ran to the nearest end of the line of homes.

Dean cursed under his breath and followed, gun at the ready. He shoved up against the wall, right next to Cas, their shoulders touching. The wind slashed rain against their faces.

“Didn’t want to make a plan first?” Dean growled.

Cas held the gun pointing skyward, near his chest. “What plan? We need to kill the monster.” Although his words sounded rough and certain, he looked a little scared. Killing wasn’t a part of Cas. It wasn’t in his natural make up, like it was for Dean.

Dean brushed by him, and took the corner nearest the street. “Follow me. On my count. One, two, three...”

Cas turned out right after him. Thirty yards down the street loomed a huge, black and gold monster. It had a lion’s golden head, and a freakish goat’s head stuck up out of its back. Its tail flicked from side to side, and the end hissed. A tongue forked out. A serpent.

James, Johnny, and several other men formed a barrier between Dean and Cas and the Chimera. They brandished spears, but every time the monster drew a breath, they scrambled backwards. Fire roared from the dragon’s mouth, chasing them further down the street.

“James!” Dean barked.

The old man turned, and his look of surprise morphed into relief. “We’re doing our best, but we can’t get close enough. We can’t ram our spears down her throat.”

Dean swiftly assessed the situation. “Next time she opens her mouth, have half your guys throw spears inside. Cas and I will shoot.”

James shouted instructions to the others, but suddenly Chimera lunged forward, surprising them all. The men yelled and scrambled backward. The dragon shot flames into the house nearest to Dean and Cas. Heat melted the window, and something inside exploded. A baby burst into hysterical wails inside the house.

The beast lunged forward again, its mouth open wide, but this time the Athinan men were ready. Spears arced through the air, meeting the fire roaring forward. The spears burst into flames, and the force of the Chimera’s breath blew the weapons off course. They fell uselessly to the ground.

Dean fired directly into the beast’s mouth. Cas, who had taken up position in the middle of the street, did the same. They fired, again and again. Bits of flesh blew off the Chimera’s lion head, and her serpent tail flicked around and lunged toward Dean. A lad with a knife had the wits to slice through the serpent tail while its flesh looked hard and real. The head fell to the ground and rolled.

The Chimera snarled, and convulsed. Dean couldn’t tell if the bullets had met their intended mark or not. The beast lunged forward, opening her mouth wide again, and the remaining men of Athina who held spears ran forward and threw them hard. Johnny led the pack. His spear disappeared inside the Chimera’s cavernous mouth a split second before fire roared forward and engulfed the young man. He shrieked as his shirt burst into flames.

Johnny fell the ground, screaming in agony, and suddenly Chimera froze. Her fangs gnashed together, and a tiny puff of smoke escaped from her mouth.

“Johnny!” Women ran into the street, and dumped buckets of water on the blazing young man’s blazing torso. Castiel grabbed the water bottle from Dean’s belt and ran to help.

 _What the..._ Were they insane?  Keeping his deadly focus, Dean shot the beast again and again.

Eternally long moments passed. In slow motion, Chimera felt to one knee, and then the other. And then, in complete silence, she vanished in an explosion of smoke.

The wind abruptly stopped at the same time.

Johnny cried out in agony, and Dean smelled the awful smell of burnt flesh. Cas now knelt beside the young man who possessed a slow mind and sweet heart, and carefully poured water over Johnny’s face, chest and arms.

“I have a bucket of healing water!” screamed a woman. Her brown hair flew out behind her. Cas scrambled backward, and she dumped the liquid over Johnny’s smoking body.

Johnny fell backward, onto the dirt road. His flesh transformed from black to pink, but ugly wrinkles puckered his exposed arms. His nose looked blistered, his lips partially burnt and swollen.

The woman dropped beside him, weeping. His swollen eyes flickered open, and a big hand gently touched her hair. “Pam..ela.” His lips flickered and his eyes closed. His hand fell to the ground.

“ _No!_ ” Pamela grabbed the bottle from Cas’s hand and lifted Johnny’s head, forcing the last few drops into his mouth. He did not swallow.

Castiel sat back on his heels, tears swimming in his eyes.

James knelt beside Pamela and put an arm around the sobbing woman. “Johnny is a hero. He died protecting us all.”

“ _No,_ ” she sobbed.

Cas looked devastated and lost, and rubbed his hands on his pants, as if not sure what to do next. Dean gently put his hand on his shoulder. “Cas. You’ve done everything you could.”

“No. First Granny Wiggins. Now Johnny, her grandson...” His voice broke.

James spoke, his voice firm, but kind. “We’re all here for a reason, Castiel. We’re here to stop Echna and Ty. Johnny played his part. Now you and Dean, and the rest of us, will finish our parts. Thanks to Johnny, the Chimera is dead.” He raised his voice. “But the real threat remains. And I mean Ty and Echna, the mother and father of monsters. We will kill them, and finally we will be free. Johnny, Hazel and Granny’s Wiggins’ deaths will be avenged.”

The Athinans murmured hushed agreement.

“We need to get Johnny off the street.” James motioned. “Billy. Harry. Help me out. Pamela.” He led the shaking woman away. Several women followed. James looked over his shoulder. “Take Castiel home, Dean. To _your_ home. The battle is over for today.”

It was quiet now, in Athina. As quiet as death.

Cas looked up at the sky. “The wind stopped when Chimera died. I think Ty is gone.”

“For now,” Dean muttered.

Cas staggered to his feet and helped the men carry Johnny. Dean did the same. They carried the young man into a house with shattered glass covering the floor, and lay him on the bed. Johnny’s chest fell, as they released him, as if settling into final, heavenly rest.

“This is Johnny’s home,” Cas murmured to Dean.

The Athinan men drew back, eyeing Johnny with grief and reverence. Castiel visibly fought tears, and his hands clenched at his sides.

Dean wondered if they should cover the man with a sheet or a blanket, but he didn’t know the customs of Delphoi. A quick glance proved the only blanket lay on the bed already. The scent of rain filled the quiet house. The dead man’s burnt shirt rippled, the tiniest bit, as if ruffled by a breeze.

Dean frowned. Had anyone...? He pressed two firm fingers into the man’s carotid pulse point in his neck. A weak, thready pulse tickled his fingers. Johnny’s chest moved a tiny bit, too.

“He’s alive!”

Castiel drew a harsh, startled breath, and the men broke into excited exclamations.  “I’ll get James!” volunteered one.

“And bandages,” Dean barked. The last man sped out.

“He’s really alive?” Castiel’s stunned expression said he could hardly believe it. He dropped on his knees beside Dean.

“No one bothered to check his pulse.”

“Thank _God._ ” Cas closed his eyes.

James and Pamela rushed in, followed by several others. Pamela pressed a hand to her mouth. “Is it true? Is he alive?”

“See for yourself.”

James turned from the bed, where he’d swiftly examined Johnny. “We could use more water, Castiel.”

“We’ll get it,” Dean assured him roughly, and he and Cas sprinted for the farm.

*****

They supplied Johnny with four buckets of water, and James assured them that would be plenty when they arrived on their last trip into town. Pamela currently cared for Johnny, who still lay unconscious on his bed.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done,” James said, following them back out into the dusky twilight. “Midsummer’s Eve is almost over. I’d suggest you take Castiel to your home, Dean. I don’t think anyone will be safe here until this night is over.”

Castiel said, “But...”

Dean gripped Cas’s shoulder. “I will. Don’t worry.”

James nodded, and his twinkling gaze took in Dean’s face and Castiel’s faint frown.

When they left Athina, Cas muttered. “I should stay, Dean.”

“Why? Chimera is dead. Echna’s probably still locked up in her cave. Ty has gone who knows where. James is right. I should keep you safe. At home.”

He frowned harder. “I am not a child, Dean. I do not think...”

Dean interrupted. “Hey, Ana.”

The little girl ran up and hugged Dean, which caused a warm, pleased feeling to flood his chest. It almost felt like the child thought of him as family, just like she did Cas. He gently hugged her back. “How’s your family?”

“Good. Daddy says we have you to thank, Cas, for the rain.”

“He’s a hero,” Dean agreed, and clapped him on the shoulder.

Cas didn’t look so sure. “Tell your father I’ll return tomorrow and help clean up the town. ...And Ana, why are you out here alone? It’s not safe.”

“Everyone knows the dragon is dead. It’s safe now.”

“So you skipped out on your own,” Cas said, his disapproval clear.

Ana pouted.

Dean said, “Your mother doesn’t know where you are, does she?”

Ana frowned some more.

“Come with us, young lady,” Dean told her. “We’re taking you home. You need to listen to your parents a little better.”

Ana’s frown lasted for all of thirty seconds.  “How’s Sam?”

Dean exchanged a faint grin with Cas. “Fine. Should I give him a message?”

“No.” Her nose tilted up in airy disregard. “Just being polite.”

When a commotion near the town square drew her attention, she veered in that direction. Dean, however, firmly gripped her shoulder and steered her toward her own front door, a few yards away. The remains of the front porch tilted crazily to the side, as if Harry had tried to push it over, to keep the front door safe, which stood open.

“Ana’s home!” Dean bellowed into the house. “Go on. Get inside.”

Ana scowled again. “You’re a bully.”

“Climb in, or I’ll carry you, sunshine.”

“ _Rrr._ ”

A faint grin pulled at Cas’s lips. Now Ana faced the challenge of entering her house. Without the porch steps to help, it was a big step up.

“Ana!” Priscilla appeared in the doorway. Her pale face was streaked with soot, as were her clothes. “Where have you _been?_ I’ve been so worried about you!” She helped her daughter inside the house.

Cas told the story, and ended with a promise to return tomorrow to help clean up the town.

Priscilla glanced at Dean, and then back at Cas. “No. We can manage well enough on our own. Your time with Dean is short. Enjoy it.”

Cas glanced at Dean, and the color of Castiel’s skin turned a warm shade. “Dean and I can both help,” he mumbled.

“Take at least one day off. Two would be better. I mean it, Castiel. You’ve saved this town, and you deserve a break.” Her attention returned to Dean. “Keep him safe. Take him to your side. I don’t think he’s safe here.”

“No one is safe here,” Cas pointed out. “At least I have the hagstone...”

Dean gripped his shoulder. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t seem to stop touching Cas tonight. Realizing that, he quickly dropped his hand. “I’ll take care of him. I promise.”

Priscilla’s smile looked knowing, and his face heated. He cleared his throat. “Uh. Come on, Cas.”

Before entering Dean’s world, they first checked the cavern again to see if Echna was still holed up inside, and she was. And with Ty out of the picture—who knew where he was, or when he would return—it did seem like a good time to bring Cas to his world. Dean gathered up his backpack and duffel from Cas’s house, and they headed to the cabin. His father would be glad he’d returned home on the same day, for once. However, John probably wouldn’t be so glad to have Cas stay at the cabin tonight.

Well, tough. For once, Dean decided that his father would not affect his mood or his decisions.


	66. Chapter 66

“Take him with you to the bar tonight,” John encouraged. They’d just finished dinner at the cabin. While John had been perfectly friendly to Castiel, and had even wished him a happy birthday, Cas sensed the man was keeping his distance. He also noted a hardness in his gaze when he glanced between him and Dean. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Castiel easily guessed why. John suspected he had inappropriate feelings for his son. Was it so obvious?  Castiel didn’t want to be a source of contention between Dean and his father. The relationship between the two had felt strained from the moment he’d set foot in the cabin.

If possible, Castiel wanted to make things _right_ between Dean and John, if he could. Which is why he turned to Dean now with a smile. “That sounds like fun. It would be like a birthday celebration.”

Dean’s mouth opened a little, as if taken aback. Then he gave a crooked smile. “You don’t know what a bar is, do you?”

“It’s a pub,” Castiel said helpfully. “One can buy all sorts of drinks there. And food. But we just ate, so...”

“Right.” Dean directed a hard look at his father. “Well, if you’re sure you want to go, Cas...”

Castiel affixed a bright, chipper smile upon his face. “I would love to go, Dean.”

Dean gathered up the keys to his baby, and John watched them leave the cabin with a bemused sort of smile on his face. Castiel also noticed the “bitch face” Sam pulled at Dean before they headed out the door. As if he was trying to send Dean some sort of a silent message.

In the Impala, Dean hesitated before putting the key in the ignition. “You sure about this, Cas?”

“Of course, Dean. It will be fun. And I think it would make your father happy if we went out and did...” he licked his lips, “well, normal things. You’ve said before that things are always intense when we’re together. This is our chance to relax.”

“If you say so.” The Impala rumbled to life beneath their feet, and Dean headed down the gravel drive, toward town.

*****

Music blared in the bar as Dean shouldered inside, ahead of Cas. All of the occupants of the small place turned to look at them.  Half were older men, but a group of younger people, likely vacationers, congregated at the far end of the bar. Several of the young women perked up when they saw Dean. A red-haired one eyed Castiel speculatively.

Castiel felt a little uncomfortable, but followed Dean to an unoccupied table.

A waitress in jeans and a low cut blouse approached them. Her dirty blonde hair was swirled up in a bun punctuated by two sticks. She looked on the young side of middle-aged. “What can I get you, boys?”

Dean flashed his identification. “A beer for me.”

“Water,” Castiel said politely. “Thank you.”

The waitress raised an eyebrow at Dean before turning back to the bar. “You have a live one, there.”

“Make that two beers,” Dean told her.

She glanced at Castiel, but shrugged a little and headed for the bar. She soon returned with a bowl of peanuts, two brown bottles, and two frosty glasses.

Dean grinned at her. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

She gave him a flirty wink and sashayed back to the bar.

Dean certainly knew how to pour on the charm to the ladies, Castiel noticed. Dean also seemed comfortable in the bar, as if it was the sort of place he visited often. And he must, if John had suggested they come here in the first place. Castiel wasn’t sure how he felt about any of it, although he was glad to learn more about Dean’s real world.

He reached for the brown bottle and poured half in the clear glass. It foamed up, and he carefully sipped it. It tasted a little bitter.

Dean grinned at him, and his fingers swiped his own lip. “You’ve got a little...” Castiel wiped the wet, prickling foam from his upper lip. “Yeah, you got it.”

Castiel noticed that Dean drank straight from the bottle, and decided he’d do the same, once he’d finished what was in his glass. The foam settled down, and he took another careful taste. A little smoother this time. It tasted a little bit sweet and bitter at the same time. An odd taste. He carefully set down the glass.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s...interesting.”

Dean glanced at the end of the bar, where three pretty girls congregated. “It’ll give you a nice buzz. Wait for it.”

“Would you like to go and speak to them, Dean?”

“What?” Dean swiftly turned back. “No. Of course not.”

“It’s all right if you do.”

Dean stared at his beer bottle. He lifted it, and his lips closed around the top. He took a long swallow. “No. I’m here with you.”

“Hey, handsome.” One of the lithe, well-built girls from the end of the bar appeared out of nowhere and smiled down at Dean. Her teased blond hair swished about her shoulders, and her fingers lightly touched his arm. “You up for a dance?” She glanced at Castiel and smirked. “Or do you play for the other team?”

Castiel sat back, feeling intensely uncomfortable. Dean looked embarrassed, and the small, uneasy smile he sent Cas punctuated that emotion. He directed a practiced, flirty grin up at the girl. “I’m up for a dance.” He raised a brow at Castiel. “Be back in a minute.”

Castiel smiled. “Take your time, Dean.” Inside, however, he felt a little sick when he saw the way Dean put his hands on the girl’s hips and they moved suggestively together, in time to the music. He took another sip of the beer. And then another.

He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the red-haired girl who had been eyeing him earlier. She was making her way toward him. Castiel made up his mind before she even spoke. He smiled and stood. “Would you like to dance?”

She twinkled up at him, all flashing teeth and a demure grin. “I’d love to, cutie.”

Castiel tried his best to copy Dean’s movements, although by touching the girl and smiling at her, he felt like he was leading her on.

She bumped into him, which startled him, and he involuntarily jerked back. Her fingers curled around the nape of his neck, and she pulled his head down. He thought wildly that she planned to kiss him, and what would he do...he would _not_ allow that to happen...

And then she breathed in his ear, “Is he your boyfriend? You’re watching him a hell of a lot more than you are me.”

Castiel blushed hard, and extricated himself from her grasp. “No. I am not familiar with...dancing. I was trying to copy his moves.”

She chuckled. “Whatever you say, sugar.”

The dance ended, much to Castiel’s relief, and he returned to the table, alone. The red-head prowled the bar, looking for new prey. A brunette snared Dean, and with an apologetic look at Castiel, he swayed into another dance. Castiel drank more of his beer. He’d almost finished the glass by the time Dean sat down. He felt a little lightheaded.

Cas gave him a sloppy smile. “Are you enjoying yourself, Dean?”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “Hey, man. Maybe you should lay off the beer. You look a little tanked.”

Castiel took a swig from the bottle, as he’d seen Dean do. “I’m feeling the buzz, Dean. It feels nice.”

Dean licked his lips and appeared to search for words, but came up empty.

“Dean-o...” The first girl Dean had danced with came up and swirled a scarf around his neck. “I’m feeling _lonely_. I want to have some fun. If you know what I mean.” She kissed his ear.

Castiel looked down, feeling sick. It was clear what the girl wanted. And Dean’s knowing smile didn’t falter. “Sure, sugar. Give me a sec with my buddy, here. I’ll meet you at the bar.”

“I’ll be waiting...” She giggled, and flounced away.

Castiel stared at his hand, clenched tightly around the bottle.

“Is it okay, man?” Dean said. He looked a little tipsy, too, in Castiel’s slightly distorted opinion. Probably longing to “get in the girl’s pants” as Sam so inelegantly put it.

“Of course, Dean.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in a few. Want me to send one of the girls over here? To keep you company?”

Jealousy—he couldn’t deny it—crawled up his gut, making him feel nauseous. “No, Dean. Enjoy yourself. I have my beer.”

A new crowd of people pushed through the door, and Dean flicked an assessing glance over the women. A few eyed both Dean and Castiel with interest. “You sure, man? You could have any girl you want. With that sex hair and those blue eyes, you’d have any chick weeping to be with you.”

Castiel felt supremely uncomfortable. This was a side of Dean he’d never seen before, and he did not like it. “No, Dean. They won’t find me attractive when...”

Dean gave him a half drunk leer. “They’ll find you hot, believe me.”

“No thank you, Dean,” Castiel said with a snap.

“Okay.” He raised his hands and retreated to the bar.

Hurt and anger swirled in Castiel’s gut. To his surprise, Dean soon returned with a girl on his arm. “Cas, this is Trish. Her date skedaddled, and she’s lonely.”

Trish smiled at Castiel. He felt bad that Trish had been abandoned, but felt angry with Dean for deliberately pushing him into this situation. A situation he’d already made clear he didn’t want.

“Mind if I sit down?”

To her credit, Trish sounded more down to earth than the other girls he’d encountered so far this evening. Manners won out. “Of course.” However, as she did so, he shot a brief glare at Dean, who looked satisfied and strolled away.

Castiel asked Trish about her date, and listened as she talked. It turned out her longtime boyfriend had just dumped her. She was lonely, and hurt. She clearly still had feelings for him. Cas listened and gave gentle words of advice. By the end, Trish sopped up her tears with a tissue, and she pressed her hand over Castiel’s. “Thank you. I think I need to go home and ‘deal.’” She left him with a pat on the arm and a watery smile. “You’re a great guy, Cas.”

Dean appeared moments later. “What happened? You sent her home crying?”

“She was troubled. She needed a listening ear.” A pleased smile tugged at his lips. “I think I helped her.”

“Man, the point is to pick up a chick and _keep_ her for the night.”

The anger simmering under the surface suddenly exploded. “Is this a _game_ to you, Dean? I will never see these women again. Why are you trying to push them on me?” He paused, trying to get a grip on his temper, but failed. “I want you to have fun, Dean, and clearly you are. That’s fine. But I don’t want a meaningless relationship. Don’t set me up with any more women!”

Dean looked slapped. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

Castiel’s hands trembled, he felt so angry. But he didn’t want Dean to know that _everything_ hurt right now: Dean leaving him alone, and setting him up with women; Dean flirting with women and putting his hands all over them...and letting them touch him, too. It all hurt, badly, and he just wanted to leave. The buzz from the first beer was fading fast.

“...leave?” Dean was looking at him, and it was clear Cas had missed the question. “Do you want to leave?” he repeated.

“I’m fine. I want you to have fun. Maybe you could get me another beer.”

Dean didn’t look too sure about that. “Listen, Cas...”

Castiel noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. “Look, your new girlfriend is waving to you. Go over. I’ll get my own drink.”

“Cas...”

Castiel waved to the waitress, and she brought over another beer. Dean declined one.

“Dean, your girlfriend looks impatient.” Castiel wasn’t sure why he was pressuring Dean like this, but truthfully, he wanted to push his friend, and his own feelings, far, far away.

Dean glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll go talk to her, but I’ll be right back.”

Castiel forced a smile to his lips, and watched him go. He drew a few deep pulls of his new beer, and tried not to watch the way Dean leaned into the girl, and how she giggled up at him. Cas’s fingers dug into his thighs until they hurt. Dean remained at the bar, making no move to escape the woman, who clearly found him irresistible. Which Castiel completely understood. Dean drew his heart and his soul, like a magnet. He could not look away from him, either. And it hurt, like Dean would say, like a son of a bitch.

Castiel asked the waitress for a pencil and paper, and wrote a short note to Dean. It said he had a headache and would be fine; not to follow him, he’d walk home. He set it with a click under the beer bottle. Dean didn’t turn around when he left the bar and entered the dark night. 

Cas shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and hunched against the light rain that slipped down his cheeks and fell with tiny, cool splashes into his scalp and hair.

It was quiet outside. Peaceful. It smelled pungent and good, like fresh rain and pine forest. It soothed him and washed away a little of the heat of the bar and the unhappiness in his soul.

He walked for a good ten minutes, and the last of his lightheadedness washed away. Everything felt harsher, and colder then. He tried his hardest not to think about Dean, or the bar, but it was an impossible task. Hurt roiled in his gut, and when his fingers ached, he realized his hands were balled into fists.

The low rumble of a car approached. Castiel moved further off the road, indicating he didn’t want it to stop. It did anyway.

The window rolled down. “It’s raining.”

Castiel’s jaw tightened. “I know, Dean.”

“Cas.”

Castiel ignored him, and kept walking.

“Get in the _car_ , Cas,” Dean growled.

Castiel knew it was a battle he couldn’t win. He wrenched the door open, slid onto seat and slammed it behind him. He stared out his window as Dean rolled forward, smoothly accelerating onto the black ribbon of highway toward home.

“You’re mad at me.”

“You ignored my wishes.” That was the least of the problems, but Cas didn’t want to articulate what was really bothering him.

Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I’m sorry. I thought if you met someone, you might...have a little fun.”

Castiel felt a flash of incandescent anger, but forced it down. “Fun? Do you mean _sex,_ Dean? Giving my body away to a stranger does not appeal to me. Although clearly it is something you do _often,_ and with abandon!” His words ended in a snap.

“Cas, I don’t...”

“Stop, Dean. I see things very clearly now.” The cabin loomed in the distance, and Castiel readied to fling himself out of the car.

“Cas, it isn’t what you think. Sure, I go to bars and flirt with girls. My dad...everyone thinks it goes further...”

“Is that why you do it? For your _father?_ ” Rain spattered in a strong gust against windshield.

Dean licked his lips, and braked. “Cas...”

As soon as the car stopped, he lurched out of the car. “Go back to the bar, Dean. Have fun.”

“Cas...”

“I mean it!” Castiel slammed the door with unnecessary force. The Impala rumbled in the driveway, and Castiel strode for the porch. He was so angry he couldn’t bear to look at Dean. His throat ached, and he wished he could go home, to his own world.

Drizzling rain and the feeling of Dean’s gaze, like a physical fist around his heart, followed Castiel into the house. He closed that door firmly, but didn’t slam it.

John looked up from paper. His brow lifted in surprise. “Back so soon?”

Castiel muttered, “I’ve had enough for one night,” and locked himself in the bathroom. His dark hair stood up in wet spikes from his scalp. Sex hair, Dean had said. Why had he said _that?_ Longing twisted through him. If only... But clearly, Dean didn’t mean he _personally_ found Cas’s hair attractive. Just as clearly, he’d taken Castiel’s advice and chased women all year long.

It should make him pleased that Dean was clearly happy, and enjoying life. But it _hurt,_ badly. His heart ached, and in the mirror his dark, conflicted gaze stared back at him. He’d _lost_ Dean—if he’d ever had him in the first place—and it hurt so bad.

“Cas?” Sam knocked on the door. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Castiel opened the door, and forced a smile for the younger Winchester, who was now so tall he towered over him. “I am tired, though. Good night.”

Sam frowned. “My brother did something stupid, didn’t he?”

“I’m fine, Sam,” Castiel repeated firmly, and sidestepped him into the hall. He closed the bedroom door securely behind him and sat on his bed, head in his hands.

The door opened again, and he swallowed. “I don’t want to talk, Sam.”

The door closed again, and Cas smelled rain and pine. “We need to talk, Cas.”

“Why didn’t you go back to the bar?” He _wished_ Dean had gone back to the bar. He still needed time to pull himself together. He felt on the verge of breaking down and crying, and he would not do it. Not with Dean here. “ _Go back_ to the bar, Dean.”

“I’m sorry. I screwed up.”

Castiel didn’t answer. His throat ached too much, and he was afraid if he said something, it would sound rough and broken. At all costs, Dean must not know how deeply he had hurt him tonight.

“Cas.” Dean knelt before him. “Cas, look at me.”

Castiel felt that if ever there was a time for swearing, now would be it. But he did not. Instead, summoning all of his courage, and schooling his features into an expressionless mask, he lowered his hands from his face. He tried his best not to glare at Dean. “I enjoyed the beer with you, Dean.”

Thankfully, his voice sounded halfway normal. Even level and reasonable. “And Trish was nice. I was glad I could perhaps help her a little. But staying at the bar, watching you make moves on women, and drinking alone wasn’t fun.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Now I know what your real life is like. I needed to learn that truth.”

“That is not the _truth!_ ” Dean sprang to his feet and strode with agitated steps across the room. “I abandoned you. I acted like a jerk. And you’re right, it _was_ for my father. Everything has been about my father. Proving myself to my _father._ ”

“What are you trying to prove?” Castiel said, confused.

“I want to prove I’m not...” His hands tugged through his hair. “ _Damn it,_ Cas.”


	67. Chapter 67

Cas stood now, facing him, and the hurt on his face clawed at Dean’s insides. He couldn’t stand it. _He_ had put it there. His deliberate actions this evening to prove to his father, himself, and Cas that...  Well, it had been stupid, and had gone so horribly wrong.

“Cas, don’t look at me like that.”

“How _do_ you want me to look at you, Dean?” Anger finally registered on Castiel’s features. “As a friend? As a buddy? I can do that. But what I can’t take... _Why_ were you throwing those women at me?”

“I...” Dean licked his lips.

“I can’t pretend anymore, Dean. I don’t like women. Not like _that._ ”  Cas’s gaze looked anguished, and his mouth twisted, as if afraid he’d said something shameful.

Dean felt as if something had kicked into his chest.

“Do you _want_ me to be with those women, Dean?” His voice broke. “Tell me the truth. Do you want them to _touch me_? To have their way with me?”

“No!” Dean licked his lips again.

Castiel looked lost and conflicted; but then, as if something snapped in him, his eyes blazed wild and fierce, as if his soul screamed at him, forcing him to finally bare all of his emotions. He drew a shaky breath and said quietly, “There is no one else.” His gaze, drilling into Dean’s, made his point very clear.  _Just you._

“Cas...”

“I will _never_ do a random hookup.” Raw emotion tensed the line of his shoulders. Slowly, carefully, Cas advanced toward him. “ _Ever._ I won’t give my body away. It would cheapen me. It would betray everything I feel for _you_.”

“ _Cas..._ ” Dean breathed. His mouth felt dry, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as Castiel stalked closer. The way Cas held himself...the way he moved...his sinuous, power-checked grace felt predatory, which was not like Cas at all. His heart fluttered. Hard. In fact, Dean realized it pounded in his chest.

Voice like rough, raw silk, Cas said, “Would you like it if I did?” His voice lowered an octave. “Would you like it if I bared myself for them?” He stripped his T-shirt over his head.

All that tanned, smooth skin, covering hard, defined muscles; Dean couldn’t seem to swallow. He never thought he could want this. Could want Cas so much.

Dean felt weak at the knees. “Cas, stop.”

Cas did stop. Physically, his body stilled. But his relentless words pushed on. “Tell me the truth, Dean.  Do you _want_ them to put their hands all over me? To possess me? To have _sex_ with me?”

“ _No._ ” he gulped.

“Why _not?_ ”

Dean gulped for air. For sanity. But he could not keep the truth in anymore. He couldn’t keep it in a second longer. “Because you’re pure...because you’re Cas. Because you’re...”  He swallowed hard, but couldn’t say the word.

“Tell me,Dean.” Castiel’s voice shook with emotion. “Tell me what you’re thinking. What you’re _feeling. For once, tell me the truth._ ”

“Cas,” he said helplessly.

“ _Tell me_ , Dean.”

Throat aching, he whispered,  “Because you’re _mine_. I don’t want anyone else to have you, because...you’re _mine_.” His whole body trembled.

“Show me.”

“Cas...”

He moved closer and whispered, “Show me, Dean.”

“Cas.” His whole body shook.

“ _Please._ ” His quiet voice sounded broken. Pleading. “Would you show me?”

“Put your shirt back on, Cas.”

Castiel stood very still. He quivered, absorbing the rejection. With a controlled, violent movement, he pulled the shirt back on.

Before he could move one step, Dean pushed him against wall.

Surprise flickered. But hurt burned in his eyes. Cas averted his face, tears glittering. His throat visibly bobbed when he swallowed. “I’m _sorry..._ ”

Dean gripped him tighter, fingers digging into torso, fingers fisting into his shirt. He touched his forehead to Castiel’s. “Cas, _I’m_ sorry.”

“I understand you don’t feel that way for me, Dean.” His voice sounded choked. “I finally understand it.”

 “No.” He laughed a little. “ _No,_ you don’t.” And he leaned in and hesitated a second, gauging Castiel’s response, which was wide and unblinking, and then leaned further in and his lips settled gently over Cas’s. Cas made a startled noise in his throat, and then his lips sweetly pressed against Dean’s. Emotion, sweet, violent torrents of it, rushed through Dean. He shuddered, and gripped him harder. Cas trembled in his arms, and his hands settled on Dean’s waist.

This was better than heaven, Dean thought with some fragmented part of his brain. Kissing Cas was better than best sex he’d ever had. The sex had been cheap. And empty. But he _loved_ Cas. Cas filled his heart, and soul and now he filled his arms, and he didn’t ever want to let go.

Castiel kissed like the inexperienced guy he was, all sweetness and promise. It was a relief and joy to finally kiss him. To feel his soft, slightly chapped lips against own. To feel Cas kissing _him_ back. Dean gave a tiny groan. It felt _so_ very good.

He opened his eyes, just a bit, to look at Cas. Eyes shut, Cas was totally and sweetly lost in the kiss. Dean tightened his grip on him and gently moved his mouth against Castiel’s. The friction felt delicious, and Cas gasped a little, and his lips parted. Dean took that opportunity to lick his tongue across Cas’s lower lip. He wanted desperately to taste him, to take all of him in, to experience him with all of his senses. When Cas gasped again, Dean swept his tongue inside his mouth. Both of them shuddered together when their tongues met, and slid, and tangled together. Cas’s hands fisted hard into his shirt, clamping hard against Dean’s sides.

“Dean,” he croaked. When he finally, fully opened his mouth to Dean, Dean’s knees buckled and he dragged Cas with him to the bed. The kiss tasted like Cas, and Dean wanted to drown in him.

Dean was totally lost. Mindlessly, he sank into slow, languorous kisses with his best friend. He could think of nothing but Cas. He was totally lost in Cas; in the feel of his kiss, of Castiel’s hands alternately gripping him and sliding over his back. It felt wonderful. More amazing than Dean had ever let himself dream or even imagine. He held himself up a little from Castiel, so he wouldn’t crush the breath out of him, and his free hand itched to touch him. His fingers slid down his shirt, feeling the taut, firm muscles. Feeling _Cas_.  When Dean’s hand slid under Castiel’s shirt, and finally touched firm, smooth skin, Cas finally went still, breathing hard. He looked scared. Dean removed his hand.

“Sorry, Cas. I think I’m losing it a little, here.” He pulled back a little, although it was difficult.

Hesitantly, Cas said, “What...now?”

Dean gently kissed him one last time, and Castiel softly returned it. Dean laughed a little. “Maybe stop kissing. Because I’m getting _way_ too turned on.” He rolled to the side of the bed, lying on his back, breathing hard, just looking at the ceiling, and trying to discipline himself to keep his hands off of Cas. He felt very aware of his best friend, beside him. It was worse when Castiel leaned over him, and his breath touched his lips.

“ _Cas,_ ” he growled.

“I love you, Dean.”

“I love you, too. And I’m _sorry_ I’ve been such an idiot.”

“I understand why you did what you did, Dean. You don’t want your father to think... You don’t want to feel ashamed...” He swallowed, and looked away.

Dean took Castiel’s jaw in his hand and turned him back to face him. “I am _not_ ashamed of you. Or my feelings for you. They are a gift. _You_ are a gift. I love you with my whole heart, Cas.”

Cas smiled, although he still looked troubled. “We won’t tell your father. Or Sam.”

Dean laughed. “I think Sam will be okay with it. He’s been telling me to face my feelings all year. But I didn’t listen. Because I wanted to prove to my father...I wanted to see what _I_ really wanted... It was all a stupid mess.”

Cas swallowed again and looked away, and Dean guessed he was thinking about the girls Dean had likely flirted with and touched. “I couldn’t do it, Cas. I didn’t have sex with any of those women. Not last year. Not this year. Not in _years_. And it’s all your fault. I couldn’t do it. I felt like I’d be betraying you, and my feelings for you.”

He finally smiled, a real one. “Like how I’ve been feeling for you?”

“Yes.”

Castiel rewarded him with a soft, gentle kiss, and Dean’s eyes fluttered closed, and his hands, which seemed to have a mind of their own, ran down Cas’s sides. He itched to feel his bare, warm skin again, but managed to control himself.

“You’re not afraid of being gay anymore, Dean?” Cas looked worried again.

“I think it’s called bisexual. And Cas, no. How can I regret this? You’re _everything_ to me. Everything, Cas.” Emotion ached in his throat, and roughened his voice. “We will tell my dad. But at the right time.”

Castiel nodded, and moved off of him, rolling to sit up again. Dean felt a little disappointed, but did likewise. “That is wise, Dean. There is no need to upset him if this thing in my world goes wrong. If I die.”

“ _Stop it!_ ”

Cas looked at him. “I’m being realistic. We’ve been lucky so far. But the odds are stacked against us. We apparently can’t see Ty anymore. Echna can create magic in the cave that even the hagstone can’t break through. I have a feeling next year everything is going to come to a head. It will all end then, Dean.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

Castiel just looked at him, and held out his hand to Dean, who gently threaded their fingers together. “I love you, Dean. And I want to enjoy every minute we have now.”

“Agreed,” he said roughly. “It’s time for lights out, and I know what we can do first.”

Cas blushed.

“ _No_. Not that.”

“Can we sleep together? Like before?” Castiel asked shyly. “I would like that. More than anything.”

Dean grinned. “Your bed or mine?”


	68. Chapter 68

Castiel woke up the next morning wrapped up in Dean’s arms. It felt nice to be close to him. To know that Dean felt the same way about him, too. Castiel remembered their kisses last night...the way Dean had kissed him, and the sensation of his lips against his had felt like heaven. And then, when Dean’s tongue had touched his...Castiel felt a full on body blush sear through him. He had never imagined experiencing anything so intimate and wonderful with Dean. It had felt very, _very_ good. He had loved it, and his body tingled now, anticipating more things; things his mind couldn’t yet comprehend.

Dean’s eyes flickered open, and his mouth slowly curved into a lazy smile. “‘Morning, Cas.”

“Good morning, Dean.” Now that Dean was looking at him, so close to him, he felt shy with the change in their relationship, and found his gaze falling to Dean’s mouth. That smiling mouth came closer, and settled on Castiel’s. “Oh.” His head fell back as Dean’s lips seared into his.

He’d thought the beer last night had made him feel tipsy, but it was nothing like the feel of Dean’s mouth against his, and the warmth pooling low in his body, and the sudden, sharp ache of want in his blood. He found his hands clutching into Dean’s sides as Dean rolled over a little, now partway on top of him, kissing him as if it was his only desire in life.

Castiel thought with some confused part of his brain that he would like to do this forever.

“Dean... _Dean!_ ” John’s harsh voice shredded the quiet, lovely peace of the room.

As if shot, Dean jerked off of Castiel. They both stared at John, standing in the doorway. Shock, anger...and finally red, blistering fury suffused his face.

“ _What is going on in here?_ ”

Castiel cringed away from that horrific, enraged shout.

John strode over and yanked the covers off the bed. He glared down at them, looking like the fire breathing dragon, Chimera. “At least you’re _dressed._ ” He looked disgusted. “Get out of that bed. Right now! Both of you!”

Dean slowly sat up, but Castiel scrambled out of bed. He was glad he’d fallen asleep wearing his jeans and T-shirt. But he felt ashamed, and cold. “I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester...”

“You’re _damn_ right you’re sorry!”

Castiel crossed his arms, and looked at Dean, who slowly stood up. Anger hardened his features, and he advanced toward his father. “Get out, Dad.”

“You and that...”

Dean shoved John, hard. “Don’t say _anything_ bad about Cas,” he growled. “Or I swear by all that’s holy, I will punch you in the mouth.”

“What has this boy _done to you?_ ” John bellowed. “Until he came, you were straight as an arrow...”

Dean’s fist shot into John’s nose, and his father’s head snapped back.

Castiel stared in horror. “Stop. _Stop it!_ ”  While John reared back, stunned, clearly trying to map out his course of retaliation, Castiel shoved Dean away from his father. “Stop it, Dean!”

Cas felt John shove him in the shoulder, hard, and he staggered backwards, in surprise. John was coming after him, his face contorted in rage, face red, fists balled up... Castiel stumbled backward, and when the fists came, he raised his arms, blocking them.

Dean launched into a flying tackle and knocked his father to the floor.

Horrified, Castiel watched the two men grapple. “Stop it! _Stop!_ ”

Sam appeared in the doorway. His eyes widened with shock and horror.

Dean swung at his father, who tried to battle him off. “You son of a _bitch!_ ” Dean’s fist connected with John’s jaw.

“Dean _stop!_ ” Castiel growled. “Stop!” He grabbed Dean’s arms and forcibly dragged him off of his father.

John scooted back and sat up, breathing heavily, jaw already darkening from the blooming bruise. His dark eyes flickered wildly between Dean to Castiel. “Damn f...”

“Don’t _say it!_ ” Dean struggled against Cas. “Damn it, Cas! Let go.”

“Not until you calm down, Dean.” Castiel was breathing hard, too. From emotional upset, but also because it was difficult to keep Dean pinioned. He was stronger than Dean, but Dean seemed out of his mind with fury.

“What is going on?” Sam’s voice from the door sounded small and scared.

Finally, John seemed to come to his senses. He rolled to his feet, and stared at Dean and Cas. “You don’t want to know, son.”

Sam stepped more fully into the room, and his gaze lingered on Dean and Cas, and then, unerringly, went to the one, clearly slept in bed in the room. “Good for you, Dean. You finally told Cas how you feel.”

John’s mouth gaped open. “ _What?_ ”

“Dad.” Sam’s quiet voice eerily riveted everyone’s attention in the overly silent room. “Dean has been in love with Cas for years. I’m proud he finally told Cas how he feels.”

John’s gaze flickered between the three of them, looking perplexed, bewildered, taken aback...too many emotions catalogue. He put a hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wait a minute. This has been going on for _years?_ ”

“The feelings have, Dad.” Dean’s voice sounded a hair calmer. Aggression still stiffened his muscles, but Castiel let him go, for he seemed under control again. “But I’ve never acted on them. _Cas_ has never acted on them.”

“Until last, night, _clearly!_ ”

“We kissed for the first time last night,” Dean admitted. “I’m not going to apologize. I _love Cas,_ Dad. I love him.”

“Damn it to _hell!_ ”

Father and son stared at each other, and the silence in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. More quietly, John said again, “Damn it to hell. I was afraid something like this...” He stared at Dean for another long moment, and then quietly brushed by Sam, and disappeared from the room.

Castiel realized he was shaking. “I should go. I should go right now.” He reached for his duffel bag.

“No. _Damn it!_ ” Dean snarled.

“I am not welcome here, Dean. That is clear. John does not want me here. So I will leave.”

“ _Cas._ ”

Castiel hesitated, but then threw in the few items he’d taken out of his duffel, and zipped it up. “I think it’s best if I leave,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you and father to fight because of me. You need to make things up with him, Dean.”

“When _hell_ freezes over.” Dean swiftly packed his bag, too.

In consternation, Castiel said, “What are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you. I’m jack shit sick of being separated from you all year. And screw it. It’s not happening again. Hope you’ll take a new roomy, because I’m coming with you.”

“Dean.” This was not working out at all how Castiel had hoped or imagined. Everything was falling apart before his eyes. The Winchesters were falling apart, and it was all because of him. “No. You _must_ make things right with your father. Until you do, it wouldn’t be right. You can’t stay with me.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I _do._ ” Castiel’s voice shook. “Your family is the _most_ important thing, Dean. I would _hate_ it if you left here to be with me, and that meant breaking your relationship with your father.”

“I’m coming.”

“ _No!_ ” The harshness of Castiel’s tone made Dean pause.

Hurt flashed. And then anger. “You don’t want me?”

“Of _course_ I want you, Dean. But not like this. Don’t you see? _Not_ like this.”

“I can’t stay with him. We’re parting ways, right now. Whether that means I come with you, or I go in Baby. It’s happening.”

“Stop!  Think about what you’re doing. Give this a day to settle down. Talk to your father tomorrow.”

“A day won’t make any _difference._ ” Dean zipped up his duffel. “So, what’s it going to be, Cas? Am I going with you? Or am I going somewhere else in this godforsaken world?”

Castiel hated this. Just minutes ago, he’d felt like he was in heaven, in Dean’s arms. And now his entire world...Dean’s entire world...was shattering.

“Decide tomorrow, Dean. Give it one day. Please.”

Dean hesitated, and then chucked his duffel on the bed. “One day. And that’s only for _you_. But I guarantee you it won’t make any difference with my father.”

Castiel gripped his duffel tighter. “I’m going now. They need help cleaning up Delphoi.”

“I’m coming with you.” Dean’s gaze challenged his. Quietly, he said, “So help me, Cas. Don’t tell me no.”

“I would like for you to come. But please, promise me you’ll talk to your father again tonight.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Fine. But we should sleep in our separate worlds tonight, Dean. I don’t want to make things worse.”

“ _Fine,_ ” he said through his teeth. “Lead the way.”

Castiel felt horrible. Now Dean was angry with him. And he was the cause of the break in Dean and John’s relationship.

Silently, he lead the way through the quiet cabin. John was nowhere to be seen, and his car had vanished. Sam ate breakfast in the kitchen.

“We might as well eat first, Cas,” Dean muttered, and Castiel hesitantly sat beside him on a bar stool and filled a bowl with breakfast cereal.

“Sorry,” Sam muttered quietly. “I wish Dad hadn’t blown up like that.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Castiel and Dean ate breakfast quickly, and in unnerving silence. Then Dean told Sam the plan, and they left the younger Winchester behind for the day, telling him it was too dangerous for him to come along. Delphoi’s unstable buildings was only a minor factor. The fact that Ty and Echna were on the loose, with unknown new powers, was the major one.

Sam was surprisingly compliant, but when they left the cabin and trekked through the forest, Castiel was relieved to discover Sam was not secretly following them.

“I’ll drop my bag at my house first. Then maybe we can carry some well water to Delphoi,” he suggested, with a quick glance at Dean, whose face still looked set and not at all pleased.

“Yeah. Okay.” The grunt didn’t make Castiel feel any better.

In the cabin, Castiel set down his bag, but before turning for the door, where Dean hovered, waiting, his gaze fell on his collection of paints and paper. An image filled his mind. One he felt compelled beyond reason to get down on paper, now. It wouldn’t take long, and Dean had said he’d wanted Cas to paint another picture of him.

“I want to do something first,” he told Dean, and swiftly assembled the items he’d need and placed them on the table. As soon as his fingers touched paint, the driving force to paint the image in his mind’s eye overwhelmed him.

On the paper, using streaks of raw flesh tones and brown and blue and red and green, emerged the image of Dean lying back on the bed, thoroughly kissed. Mouth swollen, cheekbones flushed, his gaze soft and languorous with pleasure, and lit, deep within, with intense joy. Castiel painted with violent intensity, absorbing the emotions he’d felt then, and internalizing and understanding them in new ways as he painted. He _liked_ this image of Dean, because _he_ had made Dean feel that way. It made him feel good to know he could make Dean feel so utterly blissful.

He didn’t become aware of Dean at his shoulder until his flying fingers slowed, and the painting was finished.

“Is that how you see me?” Dean said in a hushed voice.

“It’s how I saw you last night. It’s how I like to see you,” Castiel admitted quietly, wiping his hands, and screwing the lids back on the paints. “It makes me feel happy to know I can make you feel good...that way.”

“Cas, you have no idea.” Dean said roughly.

Castiel washed his hands in a bowl of clear water, and when he turned, Dean was still there, so very close.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice sounded broken. His eyes were softer, too. “I’m sorry for being a jerk to you.”

“You’re upset. You have every reason to be angry. I’m just sorry I’m the problem...”

Dean kissed him, and whispered against his lips, “You are _not_ the problem. You’re never the problem.”

Castiel pulled Dean closer, becoming so easily lost in his kiss that it was a little scary.

Finally, Dean pulled back, his lips looking thoroughly kissed again, like in the picture, and, to Castiel’s relief, his eyes smiled. “We’d better go.”

Castiel’s whole body hummed, luring him to throw responsibilities out the window. That would certainly not be the best plan. “I think that is a wise idea, Dean.”

Dean’s fingers slowly loosened their grip on Cas’s torso, and he turned toward the door. “Got everything we need? I’ll grab the bow and arrows, just in case.”  And then he headed out, into the sunlight, and jumped off the porch and around the corner, out of sight.  Castiel grabbed up a knife and a shovel, and with a final look at the cabin, closed the door behind him.

The excruciating blow to his head came from nowhere, and he crumpled to his knees. Everything went black.


	69. Chapter 69

Dean knelt on the ground, arms wrenched up behind his back, and gag stuffed deep into his mouth. He jerked and strained to free himself, to warn Cas, but it was too late. Echna hit Cas on the back of the head with a shovel, and he crumpled like a rag doll to the ground.

Fear roared in Dean’s gut. Cas lay so _still_. Was he all right? Dean wanted to curse and spit...he itched to shoot an arrow through the bitch’s heart. But the person holding him was much too strong. Something black coiled around his midsection, and another something hissed near his ear. Ty, he guessed. He could not escape.

His guess on his captor’s identity proved correct a second later, when Ty leaned forward, emerging into his line of vision. Echna now held a knife to the unconscious Castiel’s throat, and Dean wanted to swear with fear and fury.

Ty smiled down at him, his breath horrible, and his crooked teeth dully gleaming yellow. “Here’s the deal, Dean Winchester. Get me the apple, or Echna will kill Castiel. Right now. One. Two...”

Dean bellowed against the cloth in his mouth. Ty thoughtfully plucked it out. “Go screw yourself,” Dean panted.

Ty nodded to Echna, and the knife pierced into Castiel’s skin.

“ _No!_ ” Dean screamed. It felt like his entire world stopped. His heart stopped.

Echna paused, and raised a brow.

“Let him go,” he panted. “I’ll get you the apple.”

“You’ll get me the apple _now_. Or Castiel dies.”

“All right.” Dean’s mind whirled, trying to figure out how to escape. And, more importantly, why the hagstones weren’t protecting them from the Greek monsters any longer.

Ty allowed him to gain his feet, and then shoved Dean inside Castiel’s house. Dean glanced back outside, assessing the situation. Ty’s body flickered between his human form and the monster that must be his true form, which included wings and a shitload of serpent heads attached to his hands. He possessed long, coiling vipers for legs.

Ty did not enter the house. So, some of the protection charms must still be working. Maybe he and Cas needed a whole lot of anti-supernatural mojo to defend them against the clearly stronger Ty. And Echna, too. _How_ had the monsters gained more power? Clearly, the hagstones alone could no longer protect them.

Dean removed the cloth bag containing the golden apple from the cubbyhole in Cas’s floor. He returned to the doorway, but didn’t step through. “Release Cas first.”

Ty nodded to Echna, who pressed her knife deeper into Castiel’s neck. Dark red blood oozed out. Cas moaned.

“ _Stop!_ ” Dean was beside himself with fear. His mouth felt dry. He didn’t know how to help Cas. Or how to escape this situation. His hand went to his belt, where he’d hidden a knife...

“ _No._ Out. Now. Or Castiel dies. Move _now_ ,” Ty snarled.

Slowly, Dean raised his arms and complied.  The old man grabbed him, and thick black coils wrapped around Dean’s body again. Ty transformed fully into the gigantic monster again, and he wrapped up Cas in his other viperous coil. In an instant, they flew to the Rowley’s house, and in another they flew down into their cellar, and then into the courtyard.  There, Echna bound them with rope to two separate, new poles imbedded in the garden.

A pleased smirk twisted her lips when she had finished. Ty stood beside her in human form, holding the bag with the golden apple. “Perfect. Trussed for the final act of our play. Sweet dreams, boys. We’ll be back in twenty-four hours. Then it will be Midsummer’s Eve again, and you will play your chosen parts.”

With a final, sadistic sneer, she and Ty disappeared through the courtyard gate.

Dean glanced over at Castiel, whose head lolled against the pole. “Cas! Are you all right?”

He groaned, and muttered, “What happened?”

Dean told him, and by the time he’d finished, he was glad to see that Castiel’s blue eyes were more alert and focused, although they occasionally winced when he moved his head.

“They plan to keep us here for one year,” he finished up. “Twenty-four hours. Unless we can get out first.”

“Your father is going to be very worried when you don’t return. Sam, too.”

“Cas, I’m more worried about _us,_ right now. Do you have a knife? Or a twig near you to help loosen the ropes?” Dean scrabbled in the dirt behind his pole as well, but touched nothing but a few tiny pebbles. The knife at his belt was gone.

Still, both of them tried and failed to loosen their very tight bonds for an hour or more, with no success. Dean muttered, “So we’re supposed to sit here like trussed turkeys.”

“Until they return.”

“And then I get to be the turkey on the altar.” Dean huffed a sharp laugh. “Great. This day can’t get any better.”

“We will survive, Dean.” How Castiel could sound so positive and certain, Dean wasn’t sure.

“What about Ana? She needs your well water.”

“I told her about the buckets of water I stashed for her in the barn. It should carry her through until her birthday, when she will see Castalia. Hopefully, our mother will set her free from the water curse then.”

Dean closed his eyes. Right now, he didn’t believe anything supernatural would do jack squat for any mortal. Now, more than ever, he felt like a chess piece. In his own world, his father wanted to control every aspect of his life. Here, monsters from Greek mythology wanted to do the same. Why couldn’t he live his own life? The life he wanted? A life with _Cas?_

“It’ll be okay, Dean.” Cas sounded certain.

He sighed. “How do you know?”

“I just feel it. In my heart.”

“I’ll feel it, too, when I gank some monsters, and feel their sticky, dead blood on my fingers.”

Castiel huffed out a laugh, and his eyes slid half shut. “Talk to me, Dean. Tell me a story from your world. A happy story.”

So Dean obliged, and told Cas as many happy stories as he could think up. Which weren’t many. The Winchesters had been raised on ghost stories, from the time they were tiny.

Cas’s lips finally twitched. “Why do your stories always end with a monster’s death?”

“Because that’s the only way to end a good story. The princess saved. The prince claiming her hand in marriage. The monster dead.”

A small grin tugged at Cas’s lips. “And how do we fit in that scenario, Dean? I am not a princess. And neither are you.”

“We can have a happy ending, too.” Dean didn’t want to hear Cas talk like that.

“So now _you’re_ believing in our happy ending.” Castiel smiled, and Dean couldn’t stop a short burst of laughter.

“You’re right, Cas. Now you’re starting to make me believe. But I’d feel a whole lot better if I had a knife.”


	70. Chapter 70

Castiel discovered that the courtyard didn’t have a night or a day. The sun shone overhead all of the time. It was eerie and disquieting. And warm. He had no idea how much time passed. Dean had his watch, of course, but his hands were tied behind him, so that didn’t help at all.

He was thirsty, though. Dean was, too. They’d both fallen silent long ago, to conserve their spit, and to reduce the chance of dehydration. Although the sun was warm, it was not hot. Still, Castiel felt thirstier by the minute. And no doubt long hours still stretched before them.

Time passed. Seasons were sliding by. By now, it was probably winter. Castiel prayed that Castalia would free Ana from the curse of needing well water to live. He wanted to be freed from the curse, too. But to do that, they’d first have to kill Echna on Midsummer’s Eve, which was when Echna planned to force the Sphere. The “Mother of all Monsters” would never let Castiel’s mother enter this world to visit, otherwise. And with Echna’s powers stronger now than ever before...

Castiel didn’t like their chances, although his heart, illogically, refused to give up hope. He knew Dean believed they were screwed. Much as he wanted to keep Dean’s spirits up, Cas logically knew the likelihood of them escaping this mess, and finding their happily ever after, was next to nil. Even if they did, John would always create a barrier between them. Castiel was afraid that even if they did manage to escape, John’s disapproval would be the final breaking point of their happiness. Of their relationship. But he didn’t tell Dean that.

*****

Dean licked his lips and sent Castiel a pale imitation of a smile. “How long do you think it’s been, now?”

“It’s probably spring. A few more hours to go.” Castiel tried to shift into a more comfortable position against the pole, but it was impossible. The pole dug painfully into his spine, and his bottom hurt from sitting for so long on the hard, pebbled dirt. He and Dean had dozed, off and on, for the last few hours, so he figured it was somewhere in the middle of the night now. Morning would arrive soon, and so would Midsummer’s Eve. He managed a small smile. “We’ll be twenty-one soon. Happy birthday.”

“Where does the time go?” Dean gave a short laugh.

Castiel wanted to help get Dean’s mind off of their situation for a little while. “Remember last year, when you sang ‘Midnight Blue’ to me?”

“Yeah. And the year before, too. I was already falling in love with you, but was too chicken to admit it to myself.”

Castiel smiled. “I felt the same way, but it took me a while to realize what it meant. I realized it last year. When I painted those pictures of you.”

“I finally realized how I felt last year, too, but it took me longer. I ran from it for a long time. But when I finally did realize it, I knew I had to stop dating those women.”

“Then what was the bar scene about, Dean?”

“It was me, running scared again. I’m sorry, Cas.”

“It’s okay. I guessed John wouldn’t like the idea of me...and you. But I didn’t realize how strongly he would hate it. I understand why you did what you did, Dean.”

“Yeah.” He licked his lips. “Well I _don’t_. I was a total douche, and I’m sorry. I haven’t told anyone, but remember that song I’m writing? The one that’s taking me _years_ to write?”

“Yes. How could I forget? I’ve never told you before, but...well, it sings to me.” Castiel felt embarrassed. “I’m sure that sounds dumb...”

“No. It doesn’t. It sings to me too, Cas. And I finished it a few weeks ago. The music, anyway. The words still haven’t come.” Dean gave him a bemused look, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “It’s about you, Cas. I didn’t realize it for a long time, but it’s about you. When I find the words, I’ll sing it to you.”

“I can’t wait to hear it, Dean,” he said with a soft smile. In that moment, when their gazes meshed, it _felt_ as if their bodies were close together; and their hearts and souls one. And Castiel had never felt more joy in his entire life.

He loved Dean, and Dean loved him, and their souls were knit together as one. Their _love_ made them one, forever. No matter what happened to their physical bodies.

*****

Castiel must have dozed off again, because when he woke up, Echna was prodding at his hands, undoing his bonds. Ty already held Dean, who looked furious, coiled up in one of the black, viperous monsters that served as his legs. Echna dragged Castiel to his feet and shoved him toward Ty, who quickly wrapped the other viper around him and squeezed him tight.

Ty’s multiple wings fluttered, and they flew out of the gate, and into the night. The moon, nearly full, hung high overhead, casting cool white light over the landscape. Castiel had no idea what time it might be, but he guessed it was close to midnight. The “Mother and Father of all Monsters” had probably timed their grand plan of forcing the Sphere down to the last second.

The group paused at the well, where Echna ordered Castiel to pump a fresh bucket of water. Castiel insisted on giving water to Dean to drink first, before he filled the bucket. To his surprise, they allowed it, and then he drank his fill, too. After filling the bucket, which Echna grabbed with both hands, they all swooped inside of Echna’s cavern.

Lanterns lit the cave. Puffy clouds of vaporous gasses hissed up from the deep crack in the floor and drifted skyward, toward the opening in the ceiling.

Castiel wondered if the cave’s protective spell was in place, but guessed it was not. Otherwise, they would not have been able to enter so easily, and he also guessed Echna and Ty would not want to erect barriers that might prevent the Sphere from coming together tonight. So, if Dean and he could somehow manage to free themselves, they might be able to escape from the cavern.

Ty wasted no time in binding Dean to the golden altar located beside the hissing crack, and also located at the foot of the Omphalos stone, while at the same time holding Castiel captive. He next tied Castiel to an iron loop imbedded in the floor of the cave. It was a good ten feet away from Dean. Close, but not close enough to help. It killed him to see Dean lying there so helplessly, straining against the ropes cinched tightly around his chest and legs.

Meanwhile, Echna placed a tube filled with liquid on a small table positioned beside the altar. She also carefully placed the golden apple on the table.

“What will you do to him?” Fear tightened Castiel’s voice. It seemed pretty obvious what they planned to do. But he felt desperate to get them talking. To slow everything down. This was going too fast.

“Oh, Castiel.” Echna sent him a pitying glance. “You are such a fool. I am going to kill your boyfriend, which will merge the Sphere.”

“ _Why,_ again, do you want to merge the Sphere?”

“To demolish Hades, of course. To finally be freed from that dungeon, and this one, too, forever.”

“You haven’t fully escaped from Hades, have you?” Castiel guessed. “That’s why you keep turning into spirit forms. Your monster and human sides are still separate.”

“They work well together. And since Ty bound Cerberus for a short time last year, allowing us to draw strength from the underworld, our powers have increased.”

“You’ve gained plenty of power. Why would merging the Sphere give you more?”

“We are still bound to this small, dark world, Castiel. You, of anyone, know how _limited_ this half-world is. We want to escape. We want to _live_ again. Fully. As we did long ago.”

“In ancient Greece.”

“Yes, in ancient Greece.” She cackled. “You’re not succeeding in your plan, Castiel. Talk until your voice goes hoarse. You boyfriend will die. And then, so will you. So will _everyone_ when the Sphere joins.”

“You will die, too.”

“We will be _reborn!_ ”

Castiel again wondered if he was speaking to a sane person. This whole thing was crazy. He _must_ free Dean, but how? He sat in the middle of the bare floor, with no tools nearby to enable him to work free of the ropes.

And then movement to Castiel’s left caught his attention. Ty shoved a blindfolded little girl with long golden hair into view. Time seemed to slow down, as if Cas was swimming under water, seeing something blurry, far below the surface. It _couldn’t_ be real; rather, a distorted perception of reality.

“ _Ana,_ ” he breathed. His voice rose. “ _What are you doing with Ana?_ ”

“Castiel?” Ana’s voice sounded small and very, very frightened.

“Let her go, you sons of _bitches!_ ” Dean growled, his features contorted by incandescent fury. It mirrored the terrified rage surging through Castiel.

“ _Ana..._ It will be all right. Don’t worry,” Castiel’s voice shook a little as he tried to comfort his sister. Fear nearly choked him. He snarled, “ _Why_ is Ana here?”

“Think, Castiel. How do you think we discovered how to force the Sphere in the first place?”

“What do you mean?”

Ty set Ana on top of the Omphalos stone, where she held on tight, perched on the precarious pinnacle of the rounded structure. “Last year, when Ty kidnapped Ana, we held her for a few hours. How surprised we were when the gasses sent her into a trance.”

Castiel remembered that Ana had reported babbling things when Ty had kidnapped her. Things she didn’t remember, because she’d been partially unconscious. Still, he said, “The gasses make _everyone_ lightheaded.”

“But they only make _one_ person speak prophecies. The Oracle.”

Castiel drew a harsh, dismayed breath. Now he also remembered the research Sam had done into the Castalian Spring, and the Omphalos stone. And the Oracle. “She’s only a _child._ ”

“She is your sister. Ana has been very forthcoming, while under the influence of the vapors. And she is the missing piece of the puzzle. She has helped us to solve the mystery of the Sphere. Both of you, together, will help us to create the Philosopher’s Stone. That perfect work is the key that will force the Sphere to reunite.”

“No!”

“Oh, yes.”

“I won’t do it, Castiel,” came Ana’s thin, reedy voice.  “I won’t do anything they ask.”

“You won’t have a _choice,_ little girl. The gasses are already affecting you. It will take only a few more minutes before you become the Oracle. Be proud. Serve your destiny.”

“Let her _go!_ ” Castiel snarled, yanking fruitlessly at his bonds.

“Cas,” Dean growled urgently. “Use your mojo.”

_Mojo?_

Ty’s hand sprouted serpents, and he struck Dean, hard. His head snapped left. Bloody lines dripped down his cheek.

“ _Stop it!_ ” Castiel jerked at his bonds. “Let him go! Let them both _go!_ ”

Ty stuffed an old rag into Dean’s mouth, making him choke, if his arching neck and convulsing shoulders were any indication.

“Let him _go!_ ” Castiel screamed. Thunder rumbled through his soul, and power of a dark, black kind filled his spirit. Anger. Fury. _Destruction_.

Echna cackled. “You’re playing your part perfectly, Castiel.”

Castiel trembled. They were torturing Dean on purpose. And kidnapping and using Ana, too, all for their own purposes. But also, it appeared, to deliberately hurt _him_. To manipulate _him_. Into what? Starting a storm? Did Ty need it for some reason? Did he want to tear apart Delphoi for good? To force Castalia away? Would it help force the Sphere?

Castiel shuddered, trying to use logic to control his emotions. To control the low growl of thunder that rumbled through the cave. The scent of rain swirled down through the wide chimney.

Castiel groaned aloud, clenching his fists behind him. _It was so hard_ to control the rage and the need billowing inside him, screaming to the heavens for help, for vengeance, for _salvation_. His soul screamed at him to protect Dean and Ana.

Rain splattered onto the cave floor. Thunder crackled, and the ground shook beneath his feet.

“Good, good,” Echna hummed, brushing a drop of liquid over the golden apple. It flashed red sparks, and she cackled with glee. “Fire, water, air, and earth,” she mumbled. “Love, healing, hope, immortality. It all comes together in the _Sphere!_ ”  She giggled maniacally. “Isn’t that true, Ana?”

On top of the Omphalos stone, Ana’s head lolled. “Uhhh,” she muttered. “...bring us night...”

“Bring us night?” Echna cackled again. “It is here, my darling. Speak your words over the sacrifice.”

It must be nearly midnight, and Ana was clearly falling under the spell of the vapors. Castiel felt desperate. He didn’t know what to do. “Why do you have to kill _Dean?_ ” He cried out.

Echna smiled. “The fire of love burns away imperfection. True, perfect love will force the Sphere.”

Finally, a blessed plan came to mind. “Then take _me!_ ” he begged. “Kill me, instead of Dean. Do you want to see true love? You filthy _bitch!_ ” Hot tears ran down his face. “You wouldn’t know love if it bit you in the ass!” He was channeling Dean now, as far as his slip in vocabulary, but the vulgar words matched the hatred and terror boiling in his heart.

He could not let Dean die. _He_ was the one who should die. This world was _his_ burden to bear. Not Dean’s. This wasn’t Dean’s true world. Cas had sucked him into it, and he would see him safely home, if he could. He _had_ to sell this desperate idea to Echna. She had to buy his argument. She must. “True love is _sacrifice_ ,” he said in a guttural, fierce voice. “It is being willing to die for someone you love. _I_ will take Dean’s place. Let me die instead of him. Let him go, _please._ ”

Echna glanced at Ty. For the first time, her busy hands stilled. Clearly, this was an idea she had never considered before.

“Take _me,_ ” Castiel urged, feeling a spark of hope. He’d do anything to save Dean. And if Dean was freed, even if for a moment, maybe they would have a chance...

“What do you think, Ty?”

He shrugged. “Seems like sound logic.”

Castiel could have wept from relief when Ty removed Dean’s gag and untied him.

Dean wasted no time in bellowing, “Don’t listen to him! _No!_ Don’t do it. Cas. _No!_ ” Ty tossed him across the ground as if he were a ragdoll. Dean spun across the floor and smacked violently into the cave wall, right next to the ladder which led up to the passageway they’d explored last year. Meanwhile, Ty untied Cas and heaved him onto the altar. The metal felt warm from Dean’s body heat. Now it all, suddenly, felt very real. Now he would die. Fear sizzled into his soul.

Dean scrambled to his feet. Terror contorted his features. “ _Cas!_ ” He lunged forward, but Ty’s viper leg smacked him across the chest, sending him reeling backward.

Ty used one viper, hissing at Dean to keep him flat against the wall, while his serpent hands quickly lashed Castiel to the altar. Dean lunged forward again, but the viper struck, tongue striking into his chest. Dean crumpled to the ground.

Tears blurred Cas’s eyes, and he clenched his fists and prayed for a miracle. Thunder rumbled through his soul, and he knew midnight was close, because now Echna placed the apple on the altar, beside his head, and dribbled liquid from the tube over himself, the altar, and the apple. In a giddy voice, she chanted, “Tears of hope, healing water, immortality in the golden apple, and fire for love...” Then she took a spoon and dribbled well water over it all.

Overhead, Ana mumbled, “...it is midnight. The time has come... for the _Sphere_. Do not stop now, blessed ones. the time has come. Do not stop. Mix healing and hope, love and immortality. _Open up the heavens,_ ” she screamed.

Castiel jerked at her shriek. and blinked skyward. Now was his only chance. If he could use the storm to help them all, it must be _now_. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he blinked away his tears to see more clearly. Was that John, James and Sam in the upper passageway? Or was the gas making him hallucinate, too? Dean still lay crumpled on the floor.

“ _Stop,_ ” Castiel told Echna, desperation in his voice. “Stop now, before we all die!” His fists flexed, and power again surged through him, rising skyward, as if searching, screaming to meet his match in power. To explode into the heavens.

The old woman chuckled, and struck a match. She tossed it under the altar. Smoke drifted to his nostrils.

Castiel heard a faint roaring in his ears, but he wasn’t sure of the source. The storm in his heart? The storm outside? Dean? He seized his fists again. He would not go without a fight. He struggled to concentrate his rage, to pinpoint the terrible, horrible lust of his anger.

  1. He stood beneath the wide chimney entrance. Rain spattered onto his dark, terrible body, and he stared at Castiel...and then at Ana, still muttering upon the Omphalos stone.



Castiel clenched his jaw, and tightened his fists still more, so his nails dug into his palms. Storm winds swirled into the cave, knocking over beakers and tubes. The violent gusts flipped over a table, and Ty flew toward the opening, perhaps to seal it off... Perhaps to try to take control of the winds? Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel thought he saw indistinct shapes drop to the ground. Onto Dean. Was he hallucinating?

Castiel feared that was the case, for the sweet gasses of the vapors swirled over him, filling his nose. The altar felt hot beneath his back. Soon the water and the apple would begin to sizzle. Soon his clothes would burst into flame, and he would roast like a pig at a feast. Tears burned his eyes, but he focused upon the storm. The rain. Willing it to swirl into the cave. To cool his heated flesh. To _save_ them all.

“Ha _ha!_ ” Echna cried out, as the flames licked high, into Castiel’s side vision. She danced away, gazing skyward, to where Ty hovered, staring up through the chimney.  “Is it coming?” she screamed. “Are the heavens swirling? Is the Sphere _coming?_ ”

“Not for you, bitch.”

Echna whirled and Dean shot an arrow straight into her heart.

A murderous scream rent the air.  Castiel wasn’t sure if it was Echna, or Ty. But in the next second, Dean stood beside Castiel, slicing through the ropes with a knife, and dragged him off of the scorching altar. His back felt like it was on fire. “Dean...” he choked out.

The bucket of well water sloshed down his back. Then Dean hurled the same bucket at the altar, hitting the golden apple, it arched high, mixing with a splash of the sizzling altar water, and then the bubbling drops and the apple fell into the crack from which the vapors rose.

A low rumble filled the air, and the ground shifted beneath their feet.

“Dean!” John shouted. “Get _over_ here!” He stood in the cavern now, too, and James had already scrambled down, for he knelt over Echna, on the floor.

“She’s not dead!” he reported to Dean.

“Right. She hasn’t disappeared.” Dean threaded another arrow, and the storm outside exploded into a monster of shrieking winds. Ty had taken command of the storm, as Cas had feared. The hurricane blasted into the cave, blowing Dean sideways, onto his hip.

Debris whirled around the cave, and Ty appeared again. Rage contorted his monster features, and he held a silver disc in his hand. His gaze focused upon Castiel.

“No!” Sam screamed from above. “That disc will kill you, Cas! Remember Hyakinthos!”

The silver disc flew and Castiel dove for the floor. Suddenly, he heard an awful, squishing sound.

“James!” Sam screamed.

Castiel raised his head in time to see Dean, perched on the Omphalos stone, shoot another arrow into Echna’s heart. The old woman disappeared in an explosion of thick black smoke.

But on the floor lay an inert figure. Blood pooled from his head. _James._ The disc had hit James.

Ty roared above them, his black body billowing larger and larger, into epic monster proportions. Hundreds of serpent fingers gathered debris into his fists. He would destroy them all, with one mighty throw. Castiel closed his eyes, clutched his head, and _concentrated,_ with all of his might.

A brilliant, blinding white bolt of lightning forked into the cave. 

A horrific scream rent the air.

“ _Again,_ Cas!” Dean roared, jumping down and rethreading his bow.

Shuddering from the effort, Castiel focused his rage, his torment, his sheer blinding _fury_ over James’ senseless death—over all of the awful things that had been perpetrated upon Dean, Ana...upon everyone in this room—and shuddered.

Lightning flashed and a deafening clap of thunder shook the cave. The rumbling beneath his feet tripled in violence, shaking the cavern like a massive earthquake. More brilliant white light exploded, lighting up the entire cave.

A ghastly scream rent the air.  Castiel glanced up. Blue-white light consumed Ty’s black, flaming monster body. Time seemed to stand still, and then he exploded into nothingness.

The malignant note to the storm instantly eased. 

The earth still rumbled beneath their feet.

“We need to get _out_ of here!” Dean snapped.

Castiel scrambled to his feet and swiftly climbed the Omphalos stone. Carefully, he lowered his unconscious sister to Dean, who waited below with outstretched arms. The ground shook more violently than ever. With a loud cracking sound, the vapor crevice widened.

“ _Come on._ Let’s go!” Dean headed for the ladder up to the passageway, holding Ana securely draped over his shoulder.

But Castiel paused to kneel beside James. He touched his old friend’s limp shoulder. The old man was dead. Was he only dead in this world? Or was he dead in his “real” world, too? Tears burned his eyes. Memories of their last six years of friendship flashed through his mind.

Thanks to James’ help, they had understood the threat, and the reality of the Sphere. James had helped them piece together so many important clues, warning them of the danger to come. He’d helped them to see that they must save this half-world, and Dean’s world, too. And just now, he’d given up his life for Castiel’s. James had indeed come for a purpose. He had come to help save this world. To save _all_ of their worlds.

“ _Cas!_ ” Dean barked. “Come on. _Now!_ ” Between him and John, they’d already managed to hoist Ana up to the passageway above.

Tears rolled down Castiel’s cheeks, and his hand clenched James’ shoulder. “Goodbye, old friend. _Thank you._ ” He stumbled for the ladder, and climbed. Dean’s anxious hands pulled him up the last few feet, and into the passageway. The cavern below continued to tremble and shake. The oil lanterns lay on their sides below. One flickered out as he watched.

“Come on!” Dean grabbed his arm, and urged him to run down the passageway, after the others.

They burst outside, into the cool night air. Rain poured down, and the wind still blew.

“Do you think the Sphere is coming together?” Castiel panted.

“No, but I think that cave is going to collapse.”

“What about the laurel trees? They’re right above the cave.”

“ _Hurry._ ”

Dean, Sam, Castiel, and John, carrying Ana, ran through the woods to the laurel trees. The wind softened as they ran, and the rain lightened to a drizzle. It stopped altogether when they arrived at the laurel trees. Dean carefully lay Ana on the shuddering ground.

“The cave may collapse any minute,” Castiel said. “And this whole hill, and the laurel trees, could turn into a big pit. To be safe, John and Sam should go through now. And you, too, Dean. But I’m not freed from this world yet. I must meet Castalia first.”

“I’m not leaving without you.” Dean turned to face his father and brother. “Go through. While you still can.”

Sam unexpectedly slammed into Dean, and hugged him tight. “I don’t want to lose you, Dean!” Tears muffled his voice. “Not for another year.”

Dean rubbed his hair in a rough caress. “You won’t, kiddo. Promise. Go with Dad.”

“Dean...” John’s mouth opened, and then closed. Words appeared to fail him.

“We’ll talk later.” Dean gave a curt nod.

On the damp earth, Ana finally stirred. Sam bent to pull the blindfold from her eyes, and she gazed up at him, confusion clear in her wrinkled brow. “ _Sam Winchester,_ ” she whispered. “Are you a dream?”

“Yep. Your best dream.” He grinned down at her.

“Go on, Sam. Dad,” Dean said roughly. “We’ll be through soon.”

But neither moved, for they both stared up at the sky. John’s jaw dropped. “What is _that?_ ”

Castiel spun. The center of the storm had cleared away. Now stars twinkled and shimmered above...in fact, the entire _sky_ seemed to shimmer.

The ground continued to rumble beneath their feet, but the shimmering stars coalesced into a translucent form; a blue, starlit dress laced with twinkling diamonds. Glittering pale hair and a serene, beautiful face appeared. The ethereal woman smiled at Cas.

“Castiel. My son.”


	71. Chapter 71

Castiel could barely believe his eyes. Going by John and Sam’s gaping mouths, they couldn’t, either. But Ana scrambled to her feet with a glad, “Mama!” and stumbled to the woman, who enveloped the child in her arms.

Dean only raised a brow. “Castalia.” He edged closer to Castiel, and Cas felt touched by his protective stance, although he didn’t believe he needed to fear his mother.

“Castalia.” Cas tried out the name on his tongue, and she smiled.

“My son. You have done well.” Her gaze encompassed the entire group. “You have _all_ done well. I am glad you are here, too, John. It is fitting.”

Dean frowned, and did a double-take back at John, and the laurel trees. “Wait. How _did_ he get through? I thought the trees only let Cas and me through. And kids, like Sam.”

Castalia’s laugh tinkled. “Love opens the portal. And the promise of love does, too. It is the only reason why you have been able to come, Dean. Why Sam has been able to come. And now it is why John has been able to pass into this world. They love you, Dean. And Castiel loves you. You all love each other. That is why the laurel tree passage works for each one of you.”

Dean sent John a look that said he wasn’t sure about the love in their relationship, and pain flashed in his father’s eyes.

But as much as the anger separating Dean had his father deeply disturbed him, Castiel realized he must focus on other matters. He had business he needed to attend to now, before it was too late. He told his mother, “I would like to be freed from the well water. From this farm. From this world, if that is possible.”

“Of course, my son.” She touched his arm. It felt as light as a snowflake. A cool, refreshing sensation flooded his body. “Your wish is granted.”

“And Ana? Is she free, as well?”

“She is free. I set her free early, in order to save her life.”

“Why did this all _happen?_ ” Castiel suddenly demanded. Finally anger, which had silently festered in his heart over the last twenty-one years of his life, erupted. “Why did you leave Ana and me here? If you hadn’t put us here, Ty and Echna would never have tried to force the Sphere.”

“Of course they would have. And I had no choice—I had to leave you here. I am just sorry you had to suffer for my own punishment. I was only given one choice—I could choose _where_ to place you. And I knew the best course of action. It would hurt you, Castiel, which I hated, but it could save the worlds, too. We all knew we needed to stop Ty and Echna. We’ve known it for over a century, when they escaped from Hades. I wanted to tell you everything sooner, Castiel, but they prevented me from coming.  And Ana was too young to understand. It had to be this way. I hope you understand that.”

Castiel supposed he did—maybe. But the pain Castalia’s decisions had forced upon himself, James, and others he cared about could never be undone. “ _Why_ did you have to leave Ana and me here?”

“Because you are the product of a forbidden union, as I told Dean. A water nymph and a powerful Greek god are not supposed to mate.”

“Why?” Dean interjected. “Didn’t the Greek gods do anything they wanted? Any time? They took dozens of lovers.”

“Yes, but certain laws are written into heaven. A nymph and a god have different magical powers. Their offspring might become too powerful. They would not be allowed into the world of the Greek gods, or into the real world, either. They must be quarantined in a safe place, such as this one, until it is proven what sort of a mortal they will become. You, my son and daughter, have passed the test. You are more mortal than either I, or Zeus.”

“Zeus?” Dean said. “You’re saying Cas’s father is freakin’ _Zeus?_ ”

“Yes, Dean.” Castalia smiled. “Castiel, have you never wondered why you can create storms? Your father’s power lives in you.”

“Will it stay in me, even if I leave this world?”

“Of course. And you may mate with a mortal. It is not forbidden. So can you, Ana.” Her gentle smile rested upon Castiel. “But I know you have already chosen your mate.”

Castiel’s cheeks flushed hot, and he did not dare look at Dean’s father. He mumbled, “There will be no children.”

Castalia smiled. “But there will be love. Lots of it. And Ana,” she turned to her daughter, who still clung to her, “You will have plenty of love, too. But I would like for you to stay here, with Priscilla and Harry. They love you. And I’m sure Castiel, Dean, and Sam will come visit you.”

Castiel remembered the laurel trees again, and the rumbling beneath their feet. The earth still shuddered.

“Place the hagstone beneath the tree, Castiel,” Castalia said. “It will protect it against everything that might ever harm it.”

Castiel took the hagstone from around his neck and replaced it in the earth, where he had taken one out last year to protect Dean.

“Now.” Castalia opened her arms wide to Castiel. He slowly walked forward, not really sure what he felt, or how to think about her, and allowed her to enfold him in her light, cool, and refreshing arms. “I love you, my dear Castiel. Come back any year at Midsummer’s Eve and I would be overjoyed to spend time with you. And please bring Dean.” She released Castiel, and reached for Dean, too.

Dean stiffly leaned into her hug. Her laugh tinkled above his head. “You are a wonderful man, Dean. My son could not have chosen better.” She released him. “Keep your promises to him. Always.”

“I will.” Dean’s low growl and resolute gaze gave no quarter on that promise.

“Will I ever meet my father?” Castiel had to ask. He could not imagine meeting a Greek god. His father, no less.

“Perhaps. One day. But some laws in heaven will need to be rewritten. The Greek gods are no longer allowed to walk this half-world. Or Dean’s world.”

She smiled again. “Goodbye for now, Castiel, Dean, and Ana. Sam, I will see you again, too. And John, I hope I will see you, as well.”  Her body shimmered, and slowly faded to sparkles and stardust.

“So the laurel trees are safe now.” Dean put a hand on Ana’s shoulder. “Let’s get you home. Do your parents know you’re missing, kiddo?”

“No. Ty kidnapped me out of my bed again.”

John edged toward the trees. “I’ll meet you boys at home.” His eyes looked a bit wide and wondering, and Castiel guessed he’d need some time to process everything he’d seen in Castiel’s world.

“I’ll be back later, Dad,” Sam said, and joined Dean and Cas on the trip into town.

It took awhile to tell the entire story to Priscilla and Harry, for they were still half asleep. It was well past midnight, after all. It was decided they would all go down to Athina tomorrow to tell that community the news of James’ passing.

Hugs all around, and then the three returned to the laurel trees and walked into Dean’s cool, quiet world. It felt strange not to feel rumbling under their feet any longer, as they had done ever since the golden apple had fallen into the chasm. Castiel wondered what they’d find when they returned tomorrow. Would the cave collapse? Would the Omphalos stone be crushed, and the last way to force the Sphere be gone?

John had left the light on in the cabin, but he’d evidently gone to bed, for the living room was empty. They all found their own, separate beds, and fell into them. Dean left the door open, and he and Castiel, by tactic agreement, chose to sleep separately.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to put everything straight.

*****

Castiel tried his best to sleep, but could not. For some reason, he felt hot, and lay on top of the covers in his jeans and T-shirt. The events of that night kept replaying through his mind, even as he tried to quiet his thoughts by listening to Dean snore softly in the other bed.

He again lived through his absolute terror when Dean had been lashed to the altar, about to be sacrificed. And his horror when Ty had forced Ana to perch on top of the Omphalos stone and become the Oracle. And the fierce storm, and Echna’s death, and Ty’s disc, which had almost killed him. Which _had_ killed James.

James had died in order to save his life.

Grief overwhelmed him, and tears squeezed from his tightly shut eyes when he thought about his old friend. James had believed in Castiel, and he’d cared about him like the father he had always longed for. James had given _everything_ for Delphoi, Athina, and Castiel. James’ selfless actions reminded him of a verse in the Bible: “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

In many ways, it all seemed like a dream, or a nightmare. In fact, in some ways so did the last seven Midsummer’s Eves since he’d met Dean. If it wasn’t for the horrible memories of people he loved and cared about dying, in some ways, it wouldn’t seem real at all.

But it was. James was _dead_.

Sobs choked his throat, but Castiel tried to force them back, to quiet them, so he would not wake up Dean. He shoved his palms across his tear slicked face and wiped them away. But a shuddering sob escaped. He couldn’t seem to stop it.

“Hey.” Dean slid in next to him. His warm arm curled around Cas, and tugged him close. “What’s wrong?” he murmured.

Castiel tucked his head beneath Dean’s chin and held him tight, comforted by the warm, solid strength of his best friend. Something about Dean calmed him. It always had. Being in Dean’s arms made him feel right and good and secure. Dean’s heart thumped a comforting melody into Castiel’s soul. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“It’s James, isn’t it?”

He nodded, and hot tears seeped into Dean’s T-shirt. Dean smelled good, like _Dean_ , and it felt so comforting to be so close to him. But Castiel needed more. He wanted to lose himself completely in Dean...to be tangled up with his best friend. Needy beyond words, he nudged his leg between Dean’s, and felt Dean settle his leg over his; a heavy, securing, comforting weight, locking him close against him. In that small gesture, Dean told him that he would never let him go. That he was there for him, always. Through thick and thin, and all the ups and downs of life. Forever.


	72. Chapter 72

Dean woke up with his nose in Cas’s soft, rumpled dark hair. His arms tightened around his best friend, and he inhaled the scent that was purely Castiel; pure starlight and sunshine and _Cas_. He’d already accepted that he might be developing a thing for Cas’s hair. Well, too late. He’d developed a thing for _Cas_.

Cas stirred, and his head tipped back a bit. Sleepy, deep blue eyes looked into his own. Dean huffed out a small laugh. “You look like an angel.”

“I am not weak, Dean,” he said mildly, his voice a bit gruff with sleep.

“I meant you’re beautiful. Not weak. After all, you’re the son of the mega powerful Zeus.”

Castiel smiled a little. “Remember that.” The twinkle in his eyes promised that if ever there would be a fight for dominance in their relationship, it would be an enjoyable battle, indeed.

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean murmured, and leaned forward, aching to kiss best friend.

“Ahem!” A cleared throat made Dean spring away from Cas with a guilty, panicked flutter in his chest. John watched them from the open doorway. Castiel instantly rolled away from Dean too, and sat up. He rubbed a palm over his sleepy eyes.

John cleared his throat again. “Don’t. I mean, I came to tell you breakfast is ready.”

Cas stood up, looking a bit awkward. “Thank you, Mr. Winchester. Umm... Maybe it would be best if I...”

“No, Castiel. Please stay right there. I need to say something to both you and Dean.”

Dean eyed his father warily. So far, he’d seen no trace of condemnation in his father’s features. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. “What’s up, Dad? Are you saying you’re okay with this now?” He couldn’t help the trace of sarcasm in his tone.

“I hope you’ll hear me out, son. I’ve wanted to say this for a long time.”

Dean crossed his arms and raised a brow, indicating he was listening.

John gave a short nod, and visibly tried to collect his thoughts. “Dean, when you were gone...all year... It made me see some things. Hard things. I saw how chasing that demon had become an obsession for me. It poisoned my relationship with you and Sam. You two mean more to me than _anything_ in this world.”

Dean took a quick breath and glanced away. His arms relaxed a little. He hadn’t been expecting this.

“I realized I could only see what I wanted to see. I only cared about what _I_ wanted to care about.” John said roughly. “And what _I_ thought was right. I couldn’t see what was truly right. Even though it’s been staring me right in the face for the last six years. Castiel, I know you love Dean. And Dean, it is abundantly clear how much you love Cas. I accept that now. I understand it. And I approve of the two of you. I just want you to be happy.”

“Dad,” Dean’s voice came out sounding so gruff that he swallowed. “Do you really mean this?”

“Yes, son, I do. Will you forgive me?”

“Of course, Dad.” Surprise and relief overwhelmed him, and Dean crossed the room and pulled his father into a brief, hard hug. “Thank you.”

Castiel offered John his hand. “Thank you, sir. This means everything to me. I don’t ever want to come between you and Dean.”

“John. For the last time. It’s John.” John smiled, and shook his hand.

Castiel smiled. “John. Thank you.”

“Enough of this chick flick moment,” Dean grumbled. “I’m starved. Who’s cooking breakfast?”

Over breakfast, they exchanged stories of their adventures over the last year. John had finally killed the demon he’d chased all of these years. Dean could barely believe it. Finally, that son of a bitch was dead! He high-fived his father, and Sam grinned.

“Things will be different now, son,” John promised. “So. Subject change. _Your_ year only lasted twenty-four hours?”

“We were all tied up. What can I say?” Dean said with a wry smile. His fork pushed a bite of waffle across his plate, soaking in as much syrup as it could absorb. The sweet, chewy texture burst into a sweet explosion of flavor on his tongue. He couldn’t help but groan a little. “I am _starving_.”

“You haven’t eaten in a year,” Sam smirked. “So, what’s the plan today?”

“Help clean up Delphoi. It’s a burnt out mess.”

“I’m coming,” Sam said promptly, layering more waffles onto his plate. “I want to help.”

Dean smirked. “Are you sure it isn’t because of a certain blond...”

Sam threw a waffle’s at Dean’s head. With a laugh, Dean caught it. “You know, it’s called cradle robbing. The kid is only twelve.”

“Ana is a pain in the _butt_. Alright?” Sam shook his head. “ _Jeez_. But if Delphoi is a hazard, Priscilla will need me to help keep an eye on the punk. ’S all I’m saying.”

“Yeah. She’ll be glad for your _help_ ,” Dean fluttered his fingers in sarcastic air quotes, and ducked when another waffle flew. It hit him in the side of the head, and he felt syrup drip down his neck. “Bitch.”

Sam grinned. “Jerk.”

Cas chuckled and ate his food, keeping his comments and his food to himself.

Dean swiped the syrup off his neck as best he could with a napkin, and grumbled, “Now I’ll have to get a shower.”

“’Bout time. You stink.”

“Boys,” John said mildly, but smiled. “I’ve missed this, believe it or not.”

Sam chewed through a big mouthful of waffle. “So, what do you think about the Greek myths? With Ty and Echna gone, do you think your world will still be linked to Greek mythology, Cas?”

“Probably. Although when you think about it, only Ty and Echna and their children closely followed the true Greek myths. Dean and I killed them all, but in Greek mythology, Hercules killed most of their children. And Apollo killed Echna. And Zeus killed Typhoeus.”

“Right,” Sam agreed. “Both you and Dean took turns being Hercules. But Cas, you clearly played your father, Zeus. And Dean just as clearly played Apollo. And Cas, like it or not, you also played the part of Hyakinthos, Apollo’s lover. Remember all the larkspur? And how Ty, the storm wind monster, tried to kill you with a disc? All classic Greek mythology, although for that one, Ty played Zephyros, the West Wind.”

Castiel’s cheeks warmed to a dull red. “Besides killing Echna, I am not aware of how else Dean is linked to Apollo.”

“Besides his relationship with you?” Sam laughed, but it was kind. Not like the fun he’d likely take great pleasure in jabbing at Dean later. “And remember the laurel trees. I never told you this, but Apollo loved a chick named Daphne who didn’t love him back. She said she’d rather turn into a laurel tree than be with him. So the laurel trees are linked to Apollo, too. They were the portal to him finding the true love he’d always sought. You, Cas.”

If anything, Castiel’s cheeks burned even brighter. He glanced at Dean. “I am grateful for the laurel trees, then. And for Greek mythology.”

Dean grinned, and wanted to grip Cas’s arm and pull him in for a kiss. But Sam’s theatrically gagged, “Don’t even _think_ it,” pulled him back to his senses.

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled, probably grinning like an idiot. “I’m grateful, too.”

Castiel’s smile looked pleased, but embarrassed. He swirled his waffles in the warm maple syrup, visibly searching for a topic change. “What did you do last year, Sam? I mean, when you discovered Dean and me missing?”

“Dad and I crossed over to Delphoi,” Sam said. “We were worried sick. The Purcivals and James...everyone looked for you, but I knew where you probably were. It wasn’t hard to figure out. But the Rowleys must have put some sort of a spell on the house, because no one could get in. After we gave up trying, we carried your water from the barn to Ana, Cas. And then not much else happened in Delphoi. Out here, the year passed. Dad killed the demon. Those are the highlights.”

“I’d like to help out in Delphoi today, too,” John said.

This surprised Dean. “Really? Why?”

“Castiel and his world are important to you, Dean. And I got to know a few people last year. They’re good folks. I’d like to help out, if I can.”

“All right.” Dean smiled, more pleased than he’d ever thought he could feel. His father did love him. He wanted to be a part of his new life. A part of Cas’s life, too. “I appreciate that, Dad. Thanks.”

John smiled. Breakfast resumed with a snide remark from Sam about Dean’s slow growing facial hair. “A whole year, and that’s all you got?”

Dean launched across the table and rubbed his knuckles, hard, into Sammy’s head. His tall, lanky brother giggled and fought him off, but Dean managed to shove his hands down into his syrupy plate. Dean wasn’t the only one who needed a shower after breakfast.


	73. Chapter 73

Clean up was well underway when Castiel and the others reached Delphoi late that morning. Harry told them that a team had already recovered James’ body from the cave, and he’d be buried that afternoon. The ground had finally stopped shuddering, and it appeared the cavern would not collapse, after all.

“That is good news.” Castiel looked around the blackened, devastated town. His heart felt heavy. “We have so much to do. And it will cost a lot. I’ll donate the money I have...”

“No, Castiel,” Harry said firmly. “You’ve rebuilt Delphoi too many times already. We’ve already found a way to restore the town. Athina, too. A few men are in the process of hauling up that ‘altar.’ We’ll use its gold to rebuild Delphoi.”

“Fantastic idea,” Dean approved. “So, let’s get to work.”

They tore down burnt walls and crumbling homes. Ana helped Priscilla bring cool drinks to all of the laborers, but it didn’t escape Castiel’s notice that she offered more cool drinks to Sam than to anyone else. It didn’t escape Sam’s notice, either, for Cas saw the twinkle gleaming in his eyes whenever Ana wove her way back over to them, lugging the heavy bucket and dipper. Sam treated her good-naturedly, and teased her as if she were an annoying little sister. The slight pink on her cheeks said she enjoyed sparring with Sam very much.

In the late afternoon, they made their way down to Athina, where a memorial service was held for James. Castiel said a few words, and so did Dean and a number of other people, including Johnny. Only a little pink scarring remained on Johnny’s lip and chin after his encounter a year ago with the Chimera. And, if his smiling glances at Pamela after the service ended were any indication, he was happier now than he’d ever been before.

All in all, Castiel thought, as he stood back from the others, after a potluck in Athina ended, things were as good as they could be. The threat was gone. Life could finally become normal again.

A little while later, the Winchesters and Castiel walked with the Purcivals back to town in the growing dusk.

“So, Castiel,” Priscilla said. “You’re free from the well now, like Ana.” She glanced at Dean, and a small smile played upon her lips. “What will you do? You don’t have to stay in this world anymore.”

Feeling uncertain, Castiel glanced at Dean. “I don’t know. I really haven’t had time to think about it yet.”

Dean glanced over at him, and then away. A faint grin tugged at his lips, as if there was something he wanted to say, but it would wait until they were alone.

They bid the Purcivals goodnight, and then walked on to the laurel trees. John paused at the gateway. “You two coming through?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “But I think Cas needs to pack a few things. We’ll be through in a while.”

“Later,” Sam said, and loped off. He’d already complained that he wanted a shower, a bowl of ice cream, and a video game. In that order.

When John disappeared through the laurel trees, they walked through the deepening twilight to Castiel’s home. The moon shone high overhead, glowing with white beauty. To his surprise, Dean took Castiel’s hand and tugged him toward the barn. “Remember this? We first met inside the barn. And right here you gave me your magic well water for my foot.”

Cas laughed. “That seems like a long time ago.”

Dean smiled, and tightened his grip. He led him next into the forest, to the stream. The moon was so bright that it clearly lit the gurgling brook and the leaves and branches beneath their feet. They carefully balanced across the rocks, and then paused at the fire pit Dean had made so long ago.

“And remember? Here I taught you your abc’s.” His smirking grin was too much for Castiel, and he shoved him. Apparently Dean was ready for it, for he didn’t stagger. Instead, his grin widened, and he pulled Cas further upstream. Next, they stopped beside the giant spring pool. “Remember when we swam here?”

“I ‘smoked’ you, as I remember,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, you did.”

“Is there a point to this, Dean? Besides fondly remembering our past?”

“Yes, there’s a point.” Dean led him through the woods again. Up ahead, moonlight streamed down upon the clearing of larkspur that surrounded Cas’s little house. It now grew in a swathe to the barn, and to the well, too.

Dean drew him up on the porch, and finally stopped. He took Castiel’s other hand, and tugged him around to face him. “I was reminding you of our past, Cas, because I want you to be a part of my future. The laurel blossoms will fall in a few days, but I don’t want to be separated from you again. Not _ever,_ ” he said gruffly. “I can’t stand it.”

“I hate it too, Dean.”

Dean smiled. “Good.” He licked his lips. “Cas, what I’m trying to say is... Will you come live in my world? Permanently? I know it will be hard. Ana is here...” His voice faded, as if he suddenly wasn’t very sure if his idea was a good one or not.

“Dean.” Castiel smiled, and tightened his grip on his best friend’s hands. “I would like to live in your world. _With you._ ”

He smiled. “With me?”

“I would like to ride in your Baby. If you will have me, I would like to go wherever you go, Dean.”

Dean’s grin stretched so wide he seemed unable to speak for a few moments. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, Cas. I would like that. A whole _hell_ of a lot.”

Castiel’s stomach fluttered. They were promising big things to each other right now. It would mean a big step forward in their relationship. Shyly, he said, “Would we live together? Or...”

“ _Hell,_ yeah.” Dean tugged Cas even closer, so they were nearly touching. “I don’t want to be separated from you, ever again, Cas. I want to wake up with you in the morning, and I want to kiss you senseless every night.”

“Dean.” Warmth curled tight in his gut.

Dean’s breath feathered across Castiel’s lips, making them tingle. “One day, I want to make love to you, too, Cas. I want to cherish every single inch of you.”

Castiel did a full on body blush. “Dean...”

“But not for a while. I want to go slow. I want to enjoy every single minute with you.  I want to do _everything_ with you. Fairs. Circuses. Movies. Dinners out. I want to woo you until you can’t think of anything, or know anything except for how much I _love_ you. I will love you forever, Cas.”

“I love you, too, Dean.” His heart full, Castiel crushed Dean’s warm, solid body against him, and kissed him. And with his lips and tongue he showed Dean exactly how much he did love him, and desired him, until his best friend’s head fell back against the front door, and he moaned. Dean’s hands ran up under Cas’s shirt, and his greedy touches explored Castiel’s skin and the contours of his body. Both were gasping by the end, and Castiel shuddered with want.

“Dean,” he whispered. His body sang a new wild, hot burning song. “Perhaps we’d better stop now, if we want to go slow.”

Dean’s chuckle felt shaky against Castiel’s chest. “Yeah.” He slowly released Cas, his hands sliding slowly down Castiel’s sides, which made him shiver again. “So. I’ll help you pack?”

*****

Castiel didn’t have much to pack, for they planned to return tomorrow, and next year, too. He just packed his clothes, paintings, sketchbook and paints, and then hesitated near the door, holding his full duffel bag.

“I guess I should bring the gold, too. But the box is heavy.”

“I’ll carry it,” Dean offered, and pushed the bed to the side, off of the board which concealed Castiel’s box of money. Cas lifted the board, while Dean gripped the box.

“Holy shit!” With considerable effort, Dean slowly lifted the box, which was only a handbreadth in each dimension, and placed it heavily on the floor beside the gaping hole. “How much gold do you have in here, Cas?”

Castiel unlatched the lock, and pulled back the lid. Gold coins nearly filled the chest. “A lot. Do you think it would be worth something in your world, Dean?”

“Holy...shit, _yes_.” Dean stood and put a hand on his forehead. He stared down at Castiel’s small box. “Cas. Man. You’re _rich!_ ”

“I am?”

“That has got to be worth a couple million dollars!”

Castiel stared at him blankly.

“You could do _anything,_ Cas. Go to art school...college. Just live off of the interest forever... Anything!”

Slowly, Castiel said, “Could I buy the cabin? And the land with the laurel trees?”

“That, and a whole hell of a lot more.”

He finally smiled. “Then it is an investment in our future, Dean.”

“ _Your_ future, Cas. It’s your money.”

“I want to share it with you,” he said quietly. “I insist, Dean. Or else it stays here.  My future and yours are one. Everything I have will be yours.” He stood up, and gazed directly into Dean’s eyes, to make sure he knew he was serious. “I mean it, Dean.”

“Cas...” Dean looked down at the box of coins again. He licked his lips. “You know you can do better than me, right? I mean...”

“Dean Winchester!” Castiel growled. “If you keep talking like that, _your_ ass will be the one getting whipped.”

Finally, he laughed. “Like to see you try.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Castiel said severely. “But we are agreed? We will share the money.”

“Whatever you say.”

Castiel still wasn’t sure he meant it, but he was determined to make sure Dean _did_ come to accept it. Just as Dean would come to accept that Castiel knew there wasn’t a better man than Dean Winchester; not anywhere in the world.

Dean squatted, and carefully lifted the heavy box. “Ready to go home, Cas?”

Castiel grinned. “Yes, Dean.”

They bumped shoulders on the way up the hill to the laurel trees. Castiel had never seen a more beautiful night. He glanced at Dean, and caught him looking at him, too. Moonlight glinted off of his best friend’s smile. “I _love_ you, Dean.”

“I love you more, Cas,” he said gruffly. And he leaned in to close the distance between them. Their lips touched in a kiss of promise of light, and happiness, and love as they passed through the laurel tree gateway.

 

[Read the Epilogue/Part 2  
Wake the Dragon: Wedding](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2643443/chapters/5902568)

 


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